


Joy In All Circumstances

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Series: The Pacemakers [2]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Acceptance, Alien Culture, Anxiety Attacks, Arguing, Awkward Conversations, Bigotry & Prejudice, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Manipulation, Explanations, First Impressions, Getting to Know Each Other, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Intimidation, Major Character Injury, Multi, Oaths & Vows, Pining, Pre-Earth Transformers, Relationship Advice, Science Experiments, Shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-14 05:26:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 37,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5731045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Among Minibots, it's traditional that a group of five or six will form a "pace", adopting each other as kin and swearing an oath to remain that way as long as they're functioning.</p><p>After a painful divorce with his first pace, Brawn never expected to be given a second chance. Now that another Minibot is giving him that chance, he underestimated how hard it would be to start over...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place immediately after [Last Shall Be First](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4061080), so I suggest reading that first if you get confused. :)
> 
> Pace - A company or herd of mules; in my headcanon, a family of Minibots; also a traditional expectation and an honor among Minibots who form one.
> 
> One - the first Minibot to agree to join the proposer's pace
> 
> Culumexian - the form of Cybertronian spoken by residents of Culumex, the Minibot city on Cybertron, or the residents themselves

_That went…well._

Brawn couldn’t help but chuckle in a pedal tone at the thought that surfaced, but he couldn’t fault its accuracy. The fight he’d immersed himself in had been mostly one-sided and he was completely unharmed, so no one would have any trouble understanding which side had been favored. Not only that, but the good cause he’d been fighting for had won out with him.

The building-wide bar fight had all been caused for the mech currently walking beside him. Huffer, Brawn reminded himself thoughtfully, giving him a sidelong glance. The other Minibot was looking everywhere but at him, so he would’ve been free to openly stare if he had wanted, but that would have lacked…charm. At the moment, charm was what Brawn needed.

Who was Huffer? Quickly Brawn amassed a mental list of all that he knew about him: he was a worker who was given poor provisions, had his hard-earned credits stolen, and was manipulated, tossed around, and abused by his coworkers. As for his personality, his natural state seemed to be…distress. With his lifestyle, who could blame him for being so?

 _That’s all going to change, now that he’s with me,_ Brawn reminded himself, feeling a tingle of pride curl around his spark. Five of Huffer’s coworkers, led by a piece of scrap named Remix, had been stupid enough to intimidate Huffer into buying their drinks while Brawn was watching. After Huffer had finally given in and everyone was taking their seats, Brawn had intervened, dragging the stranger to his table and asking why he didn’t fight back against them. Come to think of it, Huffer still hadn’t really answered that question, but they had gotten onto the topic of paces.

The pride in Brawn’s spark wavered a little. The topic of paces was _sensitive_ for him to say the least, having lost his own pace and been dishonored by everyone he knew for it. But when he’d heard that Huffer’s coworkers weren’t a pace that he had gotten stuck with, Brawn had gotten interested. This was the first mech he’d seen in diuns who was unplaced and before he’d quite realized he was considering it, he had suggested they become pace-mates.

He’d known it was insane as soon as he’d said it but, to his utter disbelief, the desperate mech had agreed to it. Thus Brawn had done exactly what any good pace-mate would do: he’d gotten up from their table and thoroughly thrashed Remix and his cohorts. In their fruitless attempts to bring him down, someone’s swing had strayed and hit someone from another party, resulting in the building-wide brawl. After everyone had either fled or was on the ground, Brawn had tugged at Huffer’s arm and suggested that they head home. Since then they had been in awkward silence.

As though reading his thoughts, Huffer glanced at him, questioning quite innocently, “So where is it?”

Brawn stared at him blankly, narrowly dodging a streetlight. “Where’s what?”

“Home.” Huffer shuffled a bit more slowly, sounding shy as he clarified, “Where do I live now?”

So he was the traditional sort, someone who believed pace-mates should move in together right after mutual agreement. That was something they had in common, Brawn was pleased to note. “I—ah, _we_ live in the Nexus sector,” he answered, gesturing vaguely toward the cluster of streets which were their target. Clearing his throat, he asked nonchalantly, “Where _did_ you live, since you didn’t have a pace? Do you have family who need to be informed?”

“No, no,” Huffer assured him, his EM field flickering slightly. “My creators joined the Allspark a couple centuries ago. I’ve been living in their old quarters. What about you? Do you need to let your creators know?”

With difficulty Brawn resisted the urge to glare at him, reminding him as gently as he could through clenched teeth, “I’m an Unraveler, remember? I don’t have creators; they disowned me.” Swiftly turning the topic back on him, he inquired, “So you didn’t have creators to intervene for you, but from what I saw in the fight, you’re a strong mech. Why did you never slag up Remix and his troops before now? You seem capable of it.”

Huffer lived up to his name, hot air hissing through his vents as he sighed. “You wouldn’t know it now, but when they hired me they started out nice enough. By the time they started forcing all of their work on me, I guess I was just trying to survive instead of thinking about what I could do to change it.” Without warning he drew in his vents. “Frag, I—I don’t think I have a job anymore!”

Laziness was very rare among Culumexians; to the average mech or femme, having a craft meant having a purpose. Brawn didn’t know what else he could say but what he did—he put a hand on Huffer’s shoulder, not protesting when he flinched away, and assured him, “Don’t worry, I have one. I’m into demolition.”

To Brawn’s satisfaction, Huffer looked relieved when he heard this; demolition was a well-paying job, as many experts were needed to match the ingenuity of their people. “I’m—I was—I _am_ an engineer.”

This was likely to be one of the most awkward conversations Brawn had taken part in, but it was the first of any he’d had for diuns and he was drinking it in, savoring every word. “Well, someone’s sure to be looking for one; you’ll have a job again in no time.”

After that the silence was a little more comfortable, but as Brawn considered his situation, he felt a steady pool of dread rising through his internals. Tonight wasn’t just any other night and this wasn’t any walking companion. He had a One again. _This_ was his One and he hardly knew him. With the first pace, Brawn was sure he had known everything there was to know about Cardsharp.

 _Obviously not_ , a cruel area of his processor taunted, stirring the dread pool. He had just found an unlucky stranger in a bar and asked him to be his pace-mate. It had been so casual, so…irreverent. What if that start was setting them up for failure? What if he amassed another pace and brought them down in flames, just like the first? What if he’d chosen another One who would fail to be there for him when he really needed it? _What if, what if, what if…_

“Why did you scratch out the embellishment on the door?” Huffer wanted to know as Brawn stopped them in front of his quarters. “It’s a nice one—”

“It was the crest of my creators,” Brawn cut him off. “And I didn’t scratch it out; they did when they broke ties with me.” Without waiting for the inevitable apology for mentioning it, Brawn unlocked the door and made his way inside. He heard Huffer start to follow him but after three steps he stopped with a strangled gasp.

Brawn turned, concern and defensiveness mingling as he demanded, “What is it?”

“You… _live_ like this?” Huffer stammered, wide optics sweeping over the mounds of tools, incomplete pieces of machinery, cans of home Visco and the many, many empty boxes.

Finally Brawn couldn’t resist snapping at him. “Well, sure, it’s a little messy but it’s not like I live in the Solus complexes! Is _that_ what you expected?”

As satisfied as he was with this retort, he couldn’t help feeling guilty and self-conscious as Huffer poorly covered his flinch at the words by bending down and seizing a box, holding it up in blatant horror. “You’ve been living off Garbage O’s? I can’t eat these! Did you _read_ the box when you bought them? These are terrible for your systems!” Hastily dropping it, he turned his gaze to the ceiling and his jaw dropped. “Brawn! The ceiling’s going to splinter! You may live in the Nexus sector but they’ll be renaming your quarters after _the_ _Fallen_ if that isn’t fixed! D-Did you somehow not notice this?”

Brawn blinked up at the corrosion and then ruefully lowered his gaze, muttering, “I guess not.” Truthfully he hadn’t; these past several diuns had given him much worse things to contemplate than structural damage. Even so, as Huffer pointed things out, Brawn was realizing just how little he had done to maintain his living area. Now he had a One who had just thrown himself into a little huddle by the front door, asking himself miserably how he was going to live in these conditions.

 _What’ve I gotten myself into? I should’ve known better. Primus, I_ did _know better, but I wanted to help him!_ Brawn cursed himself. _Now I’m going to shame him, just like any Unraveler would._

After about ten minutes of listening to his new One lament, he opened his mouth to apologize and suggest that maybe they could live at Huffer’s place until Brawn could clean this up, but Huffer had stilled slightly in the last two minutes or so and spoke before he could. “Well, I…I suppose if we get several wire buffers, we can get some of the rust off the walls and ceiling. Sealant can fill the cracks, I think…And we’ll need some stabilizers to keep the place standing while we work.”

Brawn watched in brazen surprise as Huffer rose, seeking out the slab he used as a berth and stepping onto it, reaching for the ceiling and laying a hand against it testingly, pursing his lips. “Not as bad as I thought. Do you have a data pad buried around here somewhere?”

 _An engineer, indeed_ , Brawn thought to himself as he watched Huffer use the data pad he brought to make a list of what they would need to clean and stabilize the quarters. He could appreciate creativity and perhaps it was time to freshen things up. The new presence here was apparently determined to do just that.

“I’ll go get dinner,” Brawn offered awkwardly, once it was clear to him that he might be in the way. Huffer didn’t seem to hear him or if he did he didn’t pay any attention, focusing on his typing. Rolling his optics, Brawn left him to it, setting out for the street market on the outskirts of the Nexus sector, where it and the Maximus sector overlapped. It was one of the few establishments in this sector which stayed open overnight. Under any other circumstances, the lights were comforting to him, even if he only saw them from a distance.

As he wandered the stalls, Brawn considered his updated list of information on Huffer, frowning deeply. He was a bit high-strung and when he wailed, the pitch was reminiscent of a harinezumi being stripped of its mesh, but they had both known the risks. Judging from his reaction to Brawn’s quarters, he’d had higher hopes for his gamble.

 _I was the one who got his hopes up, giving him energon, inspiring him to strike out at his persecutors,_ Brawn reminded himself sourly. _Now he comes home to a grungy place that’s falling apart and a mech who lives off Garbage O’s. Can you blame him for being upset?_

But they hadn’t yet performed the Ritus. There was still time to break it off…

Brawn was startled, alarmed, and rather disgusted at this idea surfacing. _How can you even_ think _of that?_ He had agreed to be a pace-mate and it was taught to all Culumexians that an agreement like that was no small matter. That was that. Firmly he turned his processor back to food, approaching one of the familiar stalls and then hesitating. Of course the one night he needed a friendly face, it was someone unfamiliar working.

“Well?” the red mech asked impatiently, resting his chin on one fist. “What do you need?”

“Give me a nanoklik, will ya?” Brawn shot back, folding his arms and taking his time while considering. He actually had no idea what his new One— _yes_ , he was his One now, official or otherwise—actually liked to eat. It had been clear to him that Huffer hadn’t been fueling properly for a while now, so he’d probably take anything, but after the cringe-worthy mess of his quarters, Brawn needed to impress him. “Alright, how about one of those?”

When Brawn returned, he found everything had been pushed to all corners of the room aside from his recharging slab and two flattened oil drums on opposite sides of it. “I don’t remember those being flattened,” Brawn remarked cautiously.

Huffer glanced pointedly at him over his shoulder as he let the closet door slide closed. “I’m stronger than I look, remember?”

“Hm.” Saying nothing for or against this, Brawn sat on the oil drum to his right and laid out what he had bought on the recharge slab, which was obviously supposed to serve as a table. Huffer turned from the closet and approached, optics widening, and Brawn almost laughed but didn’t want to interrupt his own triumph. Instead he pretended this was completely normal and enjoyed himself as he supplied two polonium spritzers to drink with their portions of servo salad, chrome-alloy pie, and energon goodie cake for dessert.

“What’s this?” Huffer asked hesitantly.

At that Brawn let a self-satisfied grin emerge but he ducked his helm over the food to hide it. “Dinner,” he answered oh-so-innocently.

He wasn’t sure, but he almost thought he heard a stifled laugh from the other mech before he asked in a completely different tone, “All of it?”

“Sure! It’s our first meal together; why not go all-out? Oh, except this. This is for tomorrow.” Brawn looked up just in time to see Huffer’s eyebrows bear down disapprovingly at the box of Garbage O’s he had indicated. “What? We have to eat breakfast, don’t we?”


	2. Chapter 2

As always, Gears came online with a smile, shutting off his internal alarms and kicking off his tarps, eager to start his orn. He was tired of getting up this early but it was a nice sort of tired and he was sure that he would perk up as he went through his routine. That idea was already making him do so. He rolled his optics good-naturedly, quite pleased with himself for having already knew, and seized the tarp he had just thrown onto the floor. He folded it neatly, humming as he did so.

It was a beautiful orn, he could see as he paused by the window, squinting at his reflection in the clear, polished cybre-glass. He smiled widely at himself and then at the sun warming his face, striding proudly toward the burnished iron hutch where his choices of energon were stored.

“ _Something with a little kick_ ,” he sang, giggling at himself as he ran a hand over each cube, “ _so a sparkling won’t get sick_ —” Finally deciding on the high-grade, he took it to the table and finished, “ _But don’t you think to drink it quick just so you can go and play!_ ”

It was part of a song his creators had taught him when he was little. To think of it now gave Gears a warm, sweet feeling in his internals, as most things did. Despite the song’s warning to drink slowly, he downed his high-grade in just a few gulps, along with a chrome cake covered in JaAm.

He couldn’t understand why other sectors never ate or even sold these cakes; according to reliable medical sources, they were simply excellent for your processor and energon pumping speed. Not only that, Gears enjoyed them. He enjoyed the early morning scramble; it meant he could arrive early to his daily appointment and catch up with his scientific, generous carers, the ones who had supplied him with such a nice home in the Alchemist sector, so near their headquarters.

After that he took a brief but warm oil bath, continuing the song, “ _Before your play, you greet the orn with a wash; you’re sparkling clean! You do us good with your armor straight and your optics’ glow, pristine!_ ”

He hadn’t seen his creators in quite some time, but Gears didn’t mind. He was without a doubt that they were doing well and if they could see him now, they’d be quite proud. The last time he’d seen them, they had been proud, smiling and waving as he’d been whisked off to this sector by the scientists who had accepted him into their experimental program: NET, an acronym for Neural Exploration Trial.

At the time he had only just reached what Culumexians considered adulthood and he was pleased to take their offer, sure that it would do exactly what they said: better him for the future. He’d gone to a facility where they had done several tests on him and then given him the NET coding. Gears remembered now that he had felt nervous, but he couldn’t exactly replicate the feeling with the memory. When he had woken from sedation, he’d felt _fantastic_. It felt fantastic to feel so!

Ever since then, he had been given the best of treatment: this beautiful place to live, all ranges of fuel and friends drawn to his happiness. All he had to do was check in with his friends, the scientists, every morning when he came out of recharge. What made this life even better was that it didn’t interfere with his job; he was allowed to keep working and the coding the researchers had given him made him glad to work. He was much obliged to them.

“ _You’re our little bot and when you grow up, you’ll be a mech who shines_ ,” Gears intoned as he grabbed his stack of data pads for work after his appointment. “ _But maybe if you’re favored, sweet, you’ll have a spark who’s thine_.”

Despite that last verse, Gears hadn’t been actively searching for such a femme or such a pace. He was content in his life—though he was sure he would be content in any life—and almost saw no reason for such a thing. Perhaps it added to others’ happiness, he reminded himself, and that was always a good thing. He was happy when others were.

As he emerged from his quarters, Gears paused long enough to fill his vents with the crisp morning air and then hurried on his way, waving and shouting good morning to any other mechs or femmes who were already online and going about their own routines. Most of them were members of the NET program as well, which made them predictable.

Skittish Typhoon cringed, bolted back into his own quarters and locked the door (Gears had found it quite amusing when he’d once locked it before it fully closed); Salvo waved enthusiastically back until her pace-mate swatted her arm; Airlock glowered until his optics nearly disappeared underneath his eyebrows, and so on down the line.

Then there were other bots who weren’t part of the NET program (“Not yet,” his researcher friends reminded him) and simply gave him odd, wary, or nervous looks. Gears beamed unashamedly back and made them look away, but it was expected and he didn’t judge them. In fact, it almost gave him a sense of normality. He liked that.

Giggling, Gears approached the upgraded area of the sector, even nicer than the living areas. He felt honored to be allowed entry into this area and always had a little bit of fun for his entrance. He waved to the mechs who stood watch near the dividing line, took a few steps back to ready himself and then lunged past them over the divider, feet skating along the slick sidewalk.

Although he was pinwheeling his arms for balance, he didn’t quite manage to stop himself before his foot caught on the one treacherous cleft in the sidewalk. He stumbled and landed hard but bounced right back up again, scolding himself with quiet laughter and a mental note to remember that area. He had no fear of falling—in fact, he considered such a spectacle entertaining—but he knew his friends wouldn’t like it if he came into the office scuffed or leaking energon. They liked him in peak condition.

The tower where his friends worked was both tall and wide, a gleaming silver spire greater than any other building in the Alchemist sector. Though Culumexians loved to tear down and rebuild as their creativity was fostered, no one ever touched this building. It was off-limits as far as the populace was concerned and if there were to be upgrades, only the teams who were approved by the scientists could add them. Even as it was, Gears called it a work of art. On every other silver panel, reflected by sunlight, was a high-caste crest for all to admire, dressed in filigree so it stood out and sparkled. The cybre-glass windows were almost brighter, framed in strong chrome. Gears had heard several of those who worked there call it a “beacon of light” and as an architect he was forced to agree. He was _eager_ to agree.

The front doors were carved with the same crest in the center, sliding open almost silently to appease his entrance. Gears bounded to the clerk at the front, chirping, “Good morning, Slinger!”

The mech looked up with a thin smile, nodding expectantly. “Gears. Here for your appointment?”

“Of course! I’d never want to be late and disappoint the good doctor,” Gears assured him, saluting dutifully and then dropping his hand in midair, feeling the hum of current through the air. “I love the tingle, don’t you?” he added, shivering excitedly. “It makes it feel like something is always happening!”

“So it is,” Slinger declared, typing something on his computer and then sending a message. Gears knew this simply because it was something he had done since Gears had first started coming here. “Something’s always happening…Alright, Gears, your escort’s on his way. Just make sure to—”

“—hold still, let him take my arm and guide me to my checkup room. We won’t be making any stops and once we reach my room, the doctor will arrive within two minutes,” Gears sunnily finished his sentence. “I’m ready! Is my escort going to be Hothorn or Posthaste today? It would be nice to see Posthaste again; I heard his sparkling is being enlisted in the program! Isn’t that great?”

“It certainly is,” Slinger agreed, his smile even thinner than before but still as smug. If he wanted to feel smug about that subject, Gears was fine to let him. He was likely proud of all the progress the NET program had made, just as Gears was.

Soon enough Hothorn arrived and Gears politely held his arm out to him. The other mech nodded curtly and took it, steering him down the hall. As always, Gears spent the walk studying the signs on the doors they passed; he’d seen them often enough to have memorized them.

“Level Fives Admitted Only,” he quoted aloud, “Restricted Area, Coding Development, Operators Only…” He skipped a little to keep up with Hothorn as his escort quickened their pace, screwing up his gumption. “Hey, Hothorn, what goes on behind Coding Development? I see lots of bots going in, but I rarely ever recognize them. Is that where new employees go? They never come out—”

“Shut your manifold mouth and keep walking!” Hothorn snapped, dragging him along even faster than before. Gears blinked, deciding that Hothorn must be grumpy, having a bad orn, though he couldn’t imagine how when this morning was so nice. Even so, he waved goodbye when Hothorn left him in one of the back rooms. The escort simply glared and shut the door.

“It was two minutes and six kliks,” Gears teased when an assistant femme named Venture arrived, followed by Residue, his chief carer. Gears had only met Venture a few diuns ago and already he really, _really_ liked her. His happiness grew even warmer inside when he saw her, but he wasn’t sure why.

“I guess we’re running a bit behind,” Venture confessed, smiling indulgently at him before glancing at his chart. “But you aren’t. You’ve been operating quite well these past few orns!”

Gears shifted, a bit shy. “I’ve been very happy. I’ve been thinking a lot about my creators and how proud they’d be of my progress.”

It didn’t unnerve Gears but it did stir his curiosity when Residue came closer, resting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly. “Your creators? Why did these thoughts pop up? Have you considered contacting them?”

Gears shrugged his free shoulder, laughing. “I don’t know, the thought of them just makes me happy. Hey, maybe contacting them is a good idea! I could tell them about the NET and see if they want to try it!”

Residue chuckled too, but stress was clear around his optics. “Well, Gears, the problem with that is your creators are a bit too old for this program. Giving them new coding would upset their regular systems, and telling them about it might disappoint them. We wouldn’t want that.”

Gears nodded, shrugging again. “I guess you’re right; I wouldn’t want them to feel—”

Before he could finish his sentence, alarms caused all three of them to jump. Venture glanced nervously at Residue, who had frozen, his hand tightening on Gears’ plating, and Gears was about to ask what the sound meant when another mech he hadn’t seen before burst in.

“Sir,” he addressed Residue, “Project Catapult just failed the trial phase.”

“Slag it,” Residue cursed, turning away. “Gears, I have to go attend to some business. Venture will handle your checkup, alright?”

“Okay,” Gears agreed cheerfully. After the two other mechs had left, he turned toward Venture, commenting, “Y’know, I’m a foremech at a construction site and I have a mech who works under me named Catapult! I’ll have to tell him he’s got a program named after him; he’s always wanted to be famous!”

Venture simply smiled and nodded, making him squirm in satisfaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Had _, Gears. You _had _a mech named Catapult. :(____


	3. Chapter 3

“Is it all gone?” Huffer pressed as soon as Brawn returned from outside. “All of it completely, thoroughly destroyed?”

Brawn gave him an affronted look, throwing up his hands, which were coated with metal filings. “What do you think? Primus, Huffer, it wasn’t _that_ bad!”

“Oh, no. It was bad,” Huffer disagreed, pivoting to face the front room of their quarters. It was finally starting to look like a living area and not like a storage unit. The old machinery which had been too rusted to save, as well as all the empty cans and boxes, had been had just been disposed of outside, courtesy of his demolitionist friend, and whatever tools that were salvageable had been deposited in several kits Brawn hadn’t even remembered were scattered about in his home. These past two orns had been Brawn’s time off, but they had been just as productive as an orn at work—even more so, in fact, since they were not only demolishing but building.

At this thought, Huffer glanced up at the ceiling—more specifically, the dried sealant they had applied the first orn. They had stabilized the treacherous areas and the cracks were sealing nicely. The rust was the only remaining structural issue left for them to tackle and, oddly enough, Huffer was looking forward to it. The structure wasn’t all they were building; Culumexians often learned a lot about each other’s characteristics if they watched them work and Huffer liked what he was seeing of Brawn’s style so far.

Brawn seemed like a dedicated sort, someone who took the time to do what needed to be done and didn’t put it off. He was proud in his work and wanted others to be proud of it with him. He enjoyed sharing a load, proverbial or otherwise, with someone but if either he or the other person needed some time, he backed off. Huffer didn’t like the times when he backed off; it was an obvious struggle for Brawn not to swoop in and try to fix things.

There had been one instance when Huffer had been prying dirty cybre-glass from the upper panels of the front window so it could be cleaned and the boxes he’d been using as a makeshift stool had given way. Before he’d quite registered what was happening, he’d been on the floor with broken cybre-glass lodged in his hand. Brawn had quite literally dropped what he was doing and pounced across the room with surprising speed for someone of his heavy frame.

“Are you okay?” he demanded, kicking pieces of the glass away and crouching, snatching at his hand. “Let me see that—”

“It’s fine, Brawn. It’s fine!” Huffer told him firmly, holding the wounded hand out of his immediate reach. “I don’t want your grubby fingers on it!”

Brawn had scowled, prodded admonishingly at his upper arm, given the hand a last worried look and left to sweep up the machinery he’d dropped which, if it hadn’t been broken before, was broken now. Huffer had acted annoyed, but only because the scene had been so foreign, seeing someone concerned for him. It had been surprising and now that he considered that incident he wished he’d accepted the help.

After that, they had talked while they worked, shouting questions from across the house but never face to face, which would make it uncomfortable.

“What’s your favorite paint color?!”

“Green! Why d’you think I picked it? You?”

“Purple. Why do you think I picked it?”

“Oh, mimicry! That’s something I didn’t know about you. And as for your colors, I just assumed your creators had picked it for you and you’d kept it because you were apathetic!”

Huffer had learned very quickly that Brawn was also the heckling sort, so he was hard-pressed to supply himself with witty comebacks. Surprisingly, he didn’t mind it when Brawn teased him. The way he said it wasn’t harsh or biting the way it had been with Remix and the rest of the crew. Another thing Brawn did differently is that he never forced Huffer into anything, either verbally or physically. Huffer appreciated that far more than Brawn knew.

That was likely a side effect of what happened with his last pace, Huffer decided. Brawn still hadn’t shared exactly what had happened, but he couldn’t expect him to when Huffer hadn’t shared everything that Remix and the others had done to him. Neither mentioned what they hadn’t confessed to the other and for now that was what they needed.

All in all, it had been good time for them to bond and Huffer had been feeling good about their progress on their home. Then he’d gone into the washroom and had to stifle a sound akin to a sob of disbelief.

For all anyone could have known, this could have been a washroom for the Underground. He’d turned his back on it as soon as he’d seen a retro-rat scurry down the wall and had buried his face in his hands, wishing he’d never laid optics on the room. His spark had started racing and he had just known this was the worst of the entire quarters. It was at that precise nanoklik that Brawn had returned from grabbing their mid-orn meal and Huffer had been seized by a single thought:

 _Spare him that again_.

“I, um, think we should work on the washroom next,” was all Huffer had said when Brawn had asked what he was doing.

Just today they had refurbished the room to the best of their ability and Brawn had apologized several times for the state of it, for which Huffer was grateful.

“Every time you say it, it’s better off than it was,” he told Brawn, but that almost seemed to make him feel worse, so neither of them had said anything else about it until it was finished. Their kind could do quite a lot of construction in one orn and Huffer of the present nudged Brawn proudly, nodding to their work.

“We’re a good team.” He wasn’t going to _gush_ over the new drain or the sink, new flooring and buffed walls, but there wasn’t anything like a job well done.

“Yes, we are, little One,” Brawn agreed with a wide grin, causing Huffer to draw in his vents and whirl toward him, planting his hands on his hips.

“Don’t call me that!” he cried indignantly, trying not to show how he was reeling at being audibly called his One. “I’m by no means little and you’re by no means tall, so there’s no—”

“Don’t loosen your mesh by flaring your armor,” Brawn snickered, turning and striding away so he could have the last word. Huffer growled, seizing up a buffer to throw at him, and then hesitated, his arm dropping back to his side as he noticed the dark scarring across Brawn’s back. Huffer had only seen a wound like that on media of shootings, so he impulsively dropped the buffer and pursued him.

“Brawn! Stop,” he pleaded, only slightly relieved when he obeyed, giving him a questioning glance over his shoulder. “H-How’d you get that?” Huffer asked as he surveyed the damage, his tone much reminiscent of Brawn’s when he’d cut his hand, even to his own audials. It could only be diuns old—a short time to their people.

“Get what?”

“This…” Gingerly, stupidly, he brushed his hand across it and Brawn spun around to face him, features dark.

“Don’t touch that!” he barked, causing Huffer to back away, hands outstretched placatingly, not that it did any good.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he burst out, spark racing with familiar adrenaline, with a sudden primal urge to flee and find a place to hide. “I-I-I just—you don’t have to tell me, I just wanted to know who hurt you so I could—I don’t know, j-just please don’t—” Whatever else he was going to say trailed off when his frame hit the wall and he yelped, hugging his arms against his chest protectively.

Brawn actually looked surprised at this spectacle Huffer was making of himself and then he approached and reached for him, causing Huffer to cringe. “I’m not going to hurt you,” Brawn soothed. “That was an overreaction. I just…” He audibly swallowed and then slumped with a deep sigh. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t notice till I could get an upgrade, a back brace to cover it. It’s…heh, a souvenir from my other pace. I’m thinking this idea I’m going to hurt you is a souvenir too?” At Huffer’s jerky nod, Brawn stepped away and to the side of him. “Go on. You can turn your back to me and I swear I won’t hurt you. And I’ll be fine turning my back to you, right?”

It had taken quite a bit of Huffer’s willpower to do so, marching stiffly past him and trying to make the fear drain out of him instead of his energy. Brawn wasn’t like them. He had rescued him from them.

Later that night, after a cube and a half of high grade had made them cheerful enough for good conversation again, Huffer pulled the new recharge slab he’d bought next to Brawn’s, complaining, “I wish you didn’t have to work—or that I could at least come with you!”

Brawn laughed, shaking his helm. “Well, my employer doesn’t explicitly know I’m an Unraveler, so you wouldn’t have to worry about that…Maybe I can ask if he has room for another engineer on our team. If not, you won’t lose any recharge over it and you can just keep looking.”

“That would be great,” Huffer sighed, though he could already feel the aforementioned recharge setting in. “’Night.”

“Mm-hm.”

When Huffer came online the next morning, Brawn had already gone. He sat up, pulling his tarp around his shoulders and heading for the kitchen. They didn’t have any leftovers, but Huffer hadn’t expected any; they both ate a lot. All that were left were the…

Sparing a quick glance over his shoulder, Huffer grabbed the Garbage O’s box and took it back to his recharge slab. _We really ought to get some chairs in here_ , he noted as he stuffed a handful of the food in his mouth, surprised at how nice they tasted.

Though junk fuel was cheap, he’d never been able to spare the credits when he’d been trying to save them for legitimate energizers. He never would have made it to the orn’s end if he had been operating on these sorts of foods. Huffer tsked as he swallowed, almost disgusted with himself for eating these when he’d made such a big deal about them, but since Brawn wasn’t here, he couldn't tease him about—

Huffer startled as the front door abruptly slid open and for a sickening klik or two he was afraid he’d been found by an enemy, but Brawn filled the doorway and assuaged his worries, at least until he saw his friend’s face.

“What are you doing here?” Huffer asked cautiously. “Aren’t you supposed to be—?”

“Zephyr let me go,” Brawn announced monotonously, his tone making it all the clearer that he was _angry_. Huffer’s mouth opened but no sound left it, so Brawn rushed onward. “Remix and the others didn’t waste any time spreading the news about me… _and_ about you. Some bots think I forced you to come with me so I could ‘save face’, try to force honor back to my name. Others think you're a willing bootleg. So Zephyr fired me.”

Huffer flew to his feet, scattering Garbage O’s and doubling his fists. “He’s going to _regret_ that!” he swore, but Brawn was already shaking his helm.

“No, it’s not his fault. I don’t blame him, really; he was just doing right by his pace. Zephyr’s pace-leader made it clear to him that he’s not to be treating with an Unraveler.”

Huffer unwound from his position, unnerved by Brawn’s lack of fire. He could feel a new fear threatening to send him over, but again he knew he couldn’t do that to Brawn.

 _Spare him that. He doesn’t need that_.

“Okay,” he relented, his vocals giving out to a tiny whisper. “But…Brawn…if the news has already spread, where are we going to go?”


	4. Chapter 4

Leaning dangerously over the rail of the platform, Gears waved from the scaffolding down to the workers below, shouting, “Slipup, separate the laminated beams from the laminated _veneer_ beams, please and thank you! Cloudshift, you help him! We’re falling behind schedule and we need to catch up so we don’t let Sir Hightop down!”

Even though what he was saying was true, Gears wasn’t worried. He wondered why what he was saying made many of the mechs think their orn was ruined; a longer orn at work simply meant they could spend more time together. Gears loved instructing them in building, especially because this particular building was being dedicated to his friends. The NET crew had commissioned another science tower in this sector of Culumex, which made Gears very happy. He was glad that other mechs were going to have the opportunities and nice life that he himself had been blessed with!

Every orn of this past quintun, he’d checked in with Venture in the Alchemist sector—not only because it was a mandatory examination, but because he missed her and rather wanted to impress her by telling her how the construction of the second science center was progressing. He loved watching her optics spark with delight, but this particular morning he had mentioned something else as well.

“I can’t seem to find Catapult,” he confessed offhandedly. “Remember, I was hoping to tell him you named a project after him—”

“Yes, I remember,” Venture agreed, nodding vigorously. Gears chuckled, glad that she seemed so high on energy today.

“And today is his sister Polevault’s last orn. She says she’s going to go and look for him; the word is he went on a sudden retreat, but didn’t tell any of us.”

Venture nodded again and looked away, pursing her lips. Had all of that energy just disappeared in the span of a few kliks? Gears wasn’t sure, but he didn’t mind the uncertainty. He simply wanted her to smile again. Perhaps it was the subject that made her unhappy. Perhaps she wished she could go on a retreat too but couldn’t, so that disappointed her. Gears decided to change the subject.

“Anyway, I’m hoping to make her goodbye special. Do you have any suggestions?”

On Venture’s advice, Gears had given Polevault one of his own energon goodie cakes as a farewell gift, grinning affectionately at her. He had always liked the siblings; they did good, strong work for him and made him very proud. Polevault had accepted it, face unusually haggard, naturally sharp angles solid but worn, yet he could see she was trying to smile like him.

“C-Catapult loved these,” Polevault murmured, the light of her optics flickering, distorted by lubricant.

“Well, save him a piece for when you find him again,” Gears suggested cheerfully. “And when you give it to him, give him a solid swat with it too, for not telling us!”

“I knew,” Polevault admitted, causing Gears to nod his approval.

“That’s good! Very nice of him to let you know.”

Polevault lifted her helm, resting the hand free of cake on Gears’ upper arm. “Gears. You’ve…done a lot for us. Thank you. And…before I go, I need to be sure. Are you going to be happy someday?”

“Oh, I already am happy,” Gears assured her. “I’ve been happy for quite a long time now.” Saying this aloud only bolstered the sensation, even as Polevault stared at him, optics leaking for no reason apparent to him.

“Not everyone is,” she whispered, hugging him tightly. He returned it instantly, glad to be hugged; it just made this conversation even better.

After Polevault had left, it had struck Gears that he’d lost two of the strongest members of his team. Predictably, they were falling behind. Gears didn’t blame the crew in the slightest; he knew their augmentations lay elsewhere, in the cementing of beams or drilling or welding. Though he appreciated all of their hard work as they tried to pick up the slack, Gears couldn’t waste any time replacing the lost siblings.

As Gears scrambled down from the scaffolding, he noticed Blitzglitch sitting on a thick stack of sheet metal. Gears wasn’t annoyed that he was taking a break, since it was such a nice orn. Any orn was nice, but in order for the science tower to be completed, in order to make many more mechs and femmes happy, work needed to be done by all. Gears bounded over, leaning over his shoulder and feeling fluctuations of something hard, unhappy in his EM field.

“What’re you reading, Blitz?” he asked eagerly.

“This. Very funny sarcasm, right?” Blitzglitch scoffed, showing him the words on the pad, sent out by this sector’s datacast. Gears leaned further over his shoulder, eyebrows going up as he read.

**LOOKING FOR WORK: AN UNRAVELER AND HIS BOOTLEGGED ONE.**

“Is that really sarcasm?” Gears wanted to know. “It just seems like a mech and his One looking for work. When was that sent out, a quintun ago?”

Blitzglitch leapt to his feet so he could face Gears, demanding, “You’re not actually considering this, are you, boss?! It’s an Unraveler and a bootleg! They _have_ to be miss-clocks if they think anyone will be happy to hire them!”

Gears fluidly took his seat on top of the sheet metal, spreading his arms out expectantly. “ _I’ll_ be happy to!”

After his break, which he spent sweetly calling instructions to his employees, Gears went to the address offered with the ad and tapped the door, rubbing at the new paint on it which he had just smeared. It was an interesting door, marked with a bold crest as his friends’ science tower was, but this one had been scratched out. He reached out to feel the marring and then the door slid open. His hand was still outstretched, so he used it to wave.

“Hello!” he chirped merrily. “I’m looking for the mech who sent out the work ad. Everyone’s talking about it, saying it’s sarcastic, but I think it’s genuine, so I’m looking for him! If you can direct him to me, I’d be very much obliged!”

The two mechs who had answered the door glanced at each other and then the larger one moved in front of the smaller one, filling the doorway with his mass. Gears wasn’t sure exactly what he was trying to accomplish, but his theory that this was a very strong mech was being confirmed by the display.

“You think this is funny?” he snapped. “You think pretending to be interested in us is a joke?”

“No, and I’m very pleased you asked. _You’re_ the mech, aren’t you?” Gears realized. “Hello! I’m Gears, the foreman for a construction site just west of you. We’re building a science tower in this sector, isn’t that great? But I just lost two of my workers and I’m glad to say I want to replace them with you!”

The smaller of the mechs looked amazed at these words, but Gears was paying more attention to the larger one, who was obviously in charge. He allowed the brawny one to grab his arm, much as Hothorn did every day, and pull him in so they were nose to nose.

“Listen to me. We’ve been through a lot this past quintun. Against my better judgment, we posted our address with that advertisement and what’ve we gotten? Bots trying to storm our quarters, slandering my One, breaking the new cybre-glass we installed, and you just smudged the _third_ coat of paint we’ve put on this door to hide the dents mechs have left on it.”

“If you accept the job, I’d be happy to pay for another coat,” Gears offered pleasantly. This mech was clearly having a bad time of it, as was the other, who was still hiding behind his friend’s bulk. It wasn’t their fault, but surely they would accept some kindness now from a nice mech like him if it helped them cheer up.

“Keep the charity! We can pay for our own paint!” the big one retorted, shoving him backward and letting the door slide closed. Gears stood in front of the closed door for some time, wondering if he should knock again but eventually deciding against it, as he didn’t want to offend them by smudging their paint further. What he did instead was peek briefly through the cracked window, where he could see the smaller bot waving his hands about, looking utterly upset. Hopefully the larger one would be able to comfort him.

When Gears checked his chronometer, he surmised that it was likely his construction site had already shut down for the orn. He didn’t go there but instead headed home, settling himself in a padded chair outside where he could survey his clean street and nice neighbors.

Only a few joors later, he happened to glance to his left and was thrilled to see the two mechs hurrying past the science center—well, the larger one was hurrying and the smaller one was struggling to keep up. Gears wondered why they were in such a rush to pass his friends’ workplace, but they were likely just eager to see him.

Either that meant they were coming to accept his offer or to thrash him for his offer. Right now, Gears was happy to see them either way. Of course an acceptance was the idea he favored out of the two, but he wouldn’t exactly be troubled at a thrashing. If they released their anger, they may be more amiable to him, others, and themselves. Releasing stress always made others happy and Gears knew it, even though he hadn’t felt the need to rid himself of nonexistent stress in centuries.

He watched them slow their steps, taking in the scenery and studying the people. Gears giggled as the taller mech held a brief glaring contest with Airlock, who turned his dark optics to full power as a means of intimidation. Salvo leaned over the railing in front of her house, reaching for them and chattering away about nothing, inviting them inside for something Gears couldn’t quite catch. Typhoon took one look at the smaller mech and froze, only to find his legs worked just fine and he bolted as soon as the brawny one looked over.

The pair seemed surprised at how nice this area was. Gears was smug about this to a degree, but that stemmed out of his greater delight to see them here. Once they were in audial range, he leapt out of his chair and cried, “Hello again!”

Stopping in the middle of the street, the larger one began backpedaling, saying something to his friend—or One, as the case may be—about a ‘bad idea’. The smaller one finally took charge, grabbing his arm and hauling him the rest of the way. Gears beamed as they approached his railing, the tall one seeming reluctant, the smaller determined.

“Are you…really serious about giving us work?” he questioned.

Gears laughed and nodded. “I’m never serious, sir, but yes, I’d love it if you would work for me! I need strong mechs like you to get the work finished for my friends in the science center!”

The small one didn’t look too pleased at the notion of helping Gears’ friends, which made him briefly wonder why, but finally both of the other mechs nodded.

“Alright,” the big one conceded. “Tell us more about this job…Gears.”

Gears paused, absorbing the odd way his name had been said. It made him…happy, but it was a different, _wanting_ sort of happy, confirming everyone’s suggestions that this was a different sort of mech.

The wanting made him happy, so he let it stay, smiling brightly and wanting _something_ as he followed Salvo’s example and invited them in for some energon and conversation.


	5. Chapter 5

Brawn really wasn’t sure what to make of the foremech— _their_ foremech. His constant optimism was creepy and off-putting, but he was the only one in the confines of this sector to give them a job and they didn’t have the credits or the sparks to pack up and move.

“We need this,” Huffer had pleaded once Brawn had rejected the offer at their door. “We’ll never make it if we don’t have credits; we have to _fund our lives_ , Brawn! Please, I can’t—not knowing where the next attack will come from is driving me round the track, much less not knowing where we’ll get our meals!”

 _It’s not ideal…but it’s for the best_ , Brawn had tried to persuade himself even as he nodded his consent and allowed himself to be taken to the Alchemist sector. He’d felt a stirring of urgency as soon as he’d seen the NET tower, grabbing Huffer’s arm and fairly dragging him past the facility. Huffer had been alarmed at Brawn’s sudden physicality, but when it came to this place and the need to get away from it, there wasn’t much time to be gentle.

Gears had invited them in for energon. Now Brawn remembered the sting of jealousy as he’d studied the elegant quarters and the fine choices of energon Gears had at his disposal. All of that jealousy had been wiped away as soon as Gears had turned from the energon hutch, smiling so widely it seemed to hurt—not that Gears minded or was able to mind. If that was what it took to reach this status, Brawn would rather live in the Dead End of Polyhex.

Despite Brawn’s continued reservations, Gears had gone on and on about the great job they were being offered and Huffer kept nodding and giving him expectant glances, so he had finally given in. Today was their first orn on the job and already Brawn was feeling a prickle down his backstrut. He was astonishingly nervous as he and Huffer trailed after Gears, who greeted his employees and then would mention whatever they needed to know.

“I’m the right hand to my employer, Hightop,” Gears was saying now. “He rarely comes by for inspection but if he does, I’ll be sure to introduce him and tell him what a wonderful job you’re doing!”

“We haven’t done anything yet,” Huffer protested.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll fare just fine—excellent, in fact!” Gears countered immediately.

Brawn thought instantly of a comeback where he reminded their new boss that he believed that of everyone, but he didn’t deign to say it aloud. He was more taken up with studying their new teammates. Even over Huffer and Gears’ close conversation, he could hear the mutterings in low tones and dark, cold optics watching their every move. Reminding himself not to be afraid, he scanned the crowd, drawing himself to his full height inch by inch, making sure they realized he wouldn’t be an easy target.

“So that’s the tour,” Gears recalled Brawn’s attention, halting and clapping his hands together eagerly. “It’s just like any construction site, only more special. You have experience, which will make it even easier for you! Do you want to get started now? There’s some heavy lifting to be done over there, Huffer, and Brawn, we need the debris cleared over there.” He pointed in two separate directions and Huffer drew in his vents.

“We’ll be working _separately_?” At Gears’ vague smile, Huffer looked as though he regretted the words, ducking his helm. “Of course we will. We have different areas of expertise; I should’ve expected that. Sorry.”

“Hey,” Brawn nudged him pointedly. “Let me talk to you for a nanoklik.” Pulling Huffer out of Gears’ audial range, he bent down slightly to meet his optics, almost as though he were speaking to a sparkling but certainly not trying to patronize him. “We’re getting some shady looks, little One.” Shushing Huffer before he could protest the nickname, Brawn continued sternly, “You need to be on your guard around them. They know I’m an Unraveler and you? You’re guilty by association. Since we’ll be in separate areas, if something big happens, I might not be able to get to you in time. So defend yourself. You’ve got the strength. You just need the courage, alright?”

A range of emotions swept over Huffer’s face and for neither the first nor last time Brawn regretted the sarcastic advertisement and how it had exposed what they were. Finally Huffer nodded tersely.

“I’ll defend myself,” he repeated. Brawn nodded approvingly and pushed him back toward Gears, who directed him toward a group of mechs who scattered as soon as Huffer began his approach, not wanting to be the last and closest and thereby have to work with him. Huffer sent Brawn a troubled glance and then bent down, heaving a stack of steel beams over his shoulder and trudging after the one who had bolted behind a larger stack of them.

 _If I had defended myself when it counted, he wouldn’t be hated right now_ , Brawn cursed himself, for a few kliks reimagining the pain across his back from the blaster burns. He shoved that memory away with the first of the debris he cleared and kept it away as he worked. He couldn’t afford to be distracted; he had to make this first orn count. Impressions were—

Brawn stumbled, narrowly catching himself before he pitched forward into a pile of splintered sheet metal. He straightened, glaring heatedly over his shoulder at the femme who had just shouldered into him, no doubt on purpose.

“Watch your step or get recycled,” she spat as she continued on her way.

 _Never hit a femme_ , Brawn’s sire had commanded. That was all that stopped him from grabbing the strongest of the cracked sheet metal and smacking her with it. Femmes were creatures to be highly respected, Unravelers were the opposite…he should’ve seen it coming.

The joors passed this way, Brawn taking some strong shoves from those who dared to approach and touch him. If it was a mech and he had a nanoklik before they could escape, he would shove them in return. Whenever he could, he kept Huffer in sight, watching as he received the same treatment, bangs and shoves followed by mocking apologies. Huffer, true to his word, would pursue whoever the bully was and give them some choice words for their daring. Most just rolled their optics, as the profanities were nothing they hadn’t heard before, but it kept them away for now.

Brawn really wanted to be proud of him, knowing how hard it must be to retaliate after so long flinching away from Remix, but a sense of unease was overpowering him. He tried to tell himself that he was just being oversensitive, he was just being overprotective, but he was those things for a reason. He had been bonding well with his One and he wasn’t sure how he would cope with the disgrace and horror if Huffer got hurt and he couldn’t defend him.

He’d had another bot in his last pace so much like Huffer, Brawn recalled with a pained smile. Hitch had been almost _worse_ , clingy and whiny and needing approval, but when he was angered he had taken on a sense of power that surprised and impressed Brawn enough to offer him a place in his company. Brawn hadn’t yet seen that from Huffer, so he was starting to worry for his future in this cursed life.

Meanwhile, those who weren’t brazen enough to touch him would give him insults, either hissed from somewhere behind his helm or shouted for all to hear.

“You must be good at demolition. Just how badly did you destroy your pace-mates?!”

“When you throw that trash in the smelter, throw yourself in with it, Unraveler!”

Having a One kept a mech accountable. He had to be a good bot when Huffer was watching. Thus, forcing himself to remain calm, Brawn directed his attention to a snarled ball of wiring.

“Is that how you left your _last_ pace? As a jumble to be disposed of?” someone hollered scornfully, from what they had judged to be a safe distance.

 _Primus, give me patience_ , Brawn prayed as he untangled and snapped each wire effortlessly, wishing he could do the same to certain jeerers. _I’m not going to lash out. I’m going to be calm and—_

A muffled shriek, much like a harinezumi stripped of its mesh, cut through any more of Brawn’s vows. Cursing, he sprinted in the direction he hoped it had come from. He had no need to shove anyone out of the way, as they all recoiled from him as though his very touch would dirty them.

 _Blast them_. With this thought, Brawn brushed away his anger as he rounded the large stack of steel beams he’d seen early this morning and froze where he stood.

The large mech in his sights was one Gears had greeted when they had come, which meant he had an in with their employer. That didn’t matter. All Brawn could see was that Cloudshift had taken Huffer to the ground and had an arm pressed against his throat. Neither had seen him yet.

“You think you can become an Unraveler’s knockoff and still be accepted as one of us?” Cloudshift hissed. “You’re cursed now, a squealing retro-rat, and they get stepped on!”

Brawn’s spark skyrocketed, his vision turned to crimson static, and the next thing he knew he was slamming Cloudshift face first into the pile of beams, gripping the back of his neck.

“You wanna rethink that, you filthy son of a scrapheap?!” he bellowed, grabbing Huffer’s elbow and hauling him to his feet. “You don’t _touch_ him!”

Other mechs watched Cloudshift flounder as though he were drowning in the steel beams and then slump backward as he entered stasis. Brawn stepped back with grim pride as Huffer growled wordlessly, kicking at Cloudshift’s leg and denting it before brushing himself off.

As his anger drained, Brawn’s concern mounted and he grasped Huffer’s shoulders, looking him up and down. “Are you alright?” he questioned quietly.

Huffer shrugged out of his grip, shivering a little and wiping at his mouth, smearing the energon that was seeping at the corners across his chin. “Yeah, just this and a couple of scratches. He’s not nearly as strong as us.”

Brawn nodded, turning away and expecting to find a crowd, only to see Gears standing behind him, his plastered smile still present. It was shocking to Brawn how he could smile like that when one of his workers had just beat the other unconscious and thrown him into their materials.

“Now that that’s resolved, we can get back to our schedule?” Gears asked hopefully.

Sighing indulgently, Brawn rewarded him with a sharp nod, to which Gears grinned wider and made a beeline for the others, who had gathered to watch in a mixture of awe and horror. Brawn gave them an all-inclusive venomous look, flaring his armor and shifting so he was partially blocking Huffer from view.

 _He’s one of my own. You don’t touch him, or you’ll get worse_.

The message was clear enough; they all looked away from him and let Gears guide them further back. As Brawn returned his attention to Huffer, however, he saw his friend staring with wide optics at the platform above them, attached by a cable to the scaffolding.

“What is it?” Brawn started, only for Huffer to lunge at him, taking him to the ground some yards away just before the platform crashed down. In his peripheral vision Brawn saw a smaller mech scurry in the direction Gears had gone, but he could only surmise who it was.

“That does it!” Huffer screamed, causing Brawn to wince since he was at close range. Scrambling to his feet, Huffer pressed his hands to his helm. “They’re trying to kill us! I’m ready, Brawn, I’m fed up! I’m ready to take someone out!”

“For drinks!” Gears finished his sentence, sounding gleeful as he turned, raced back to them and put his arms around their shoulders. “It’s a very nice idea, Huffer! And since this was your first orn and you’re sure to be tired, I’ll treat.”

Huffer looked mildly confused for a long minute and then his face fell, but he nodded. Brawn was glad; they both needed something to relax and somehow Gears could see it through his own happiness. He was still accepting of their methods, so he wouldn’t mind if…

“You go ahead,” Brawn suggested stonily. “I’ve got one last thing to do.” He ignored the look Huffer sent him and as soon as his friend and Gears were out of sight, Brawn approached the smallest of their team, a mech named Slipup. Slipup wouldn’t look at him directly, but Brawn watched as he tried to hide his cable cutters behind the rest of his tools. The Unraveler wrenched him out of the way, seized the cable cutters and promptly snapped them.

“If you want me to be an Unraveler, if you want me to be a bully, if you want me to be a curse against you, I _will_ be one,” Brawn promised him, his tone acidic as he dropped the tool pieces at their owner’s feet. “I’ll be the worst creature you’ll _ever_ meet if you force me to. And if you ever use your craft or tools against me or my friends again, I’ll break much more than this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not ever, ever, _ever_ mess with Brawn's friends.


	6. Chapter 6

Gears was overjoyed that his two new workers had agreed to get drinks with him. It was a small tradition of his to buy drinks for a mech he’d just hired on and for these two to come in a pair…well, treating them together just made him feel even more helpful.

Since he was treating, he was allowed to choose whatever tavern to go to and his acquaintances said as much. He got a bit bashful and told them they didn’t have to, but they seemed too wound up by their tiring day to really make a decision, so Gears had decided they needed to become more comfortable in his sector of the city. Perhaps if they did, they would visit more often. Therefore he suggested the Topper, a place not in but close to his sector which he thought to be warm and cozy, where they could spend their time people-watching.

He really wanted them to agree, but Huffer took on a bothered expression, began wringing his hands and requested a short nanoklik to think it over.

“Of course you can! Don’t think I’m going to stop you!” Gears urged, striding to a distance that was almost out of audial range, but not quite.

“Have you ever heard of that place?” Brawn asked curiously.

Huffer’s purse-lipped indication of the negative did nothing to subtract from his next words. “It’s just that it’s near that sector. What if word reaches farther out than this sector, Brawn? My arm is still sore from how you dragged me past that science center. If they hear you’re an Unraveler, they’ll know no one will care enough to rescue you if they try to get hold of you for an experiment!”

Why would they need rescuing from the chance of being happy? Through his happiness, Gears tried to think of a reason, but the only one he could think of was that maybe they didn’t want to be happy. But why not?

“C’mon, Huffer, we’ll be in a part of a sector nowhere near the scientists,” Brawn assured him. “And besides, I don’t need anyone to rescue me from them; I’ve got my strength!”

Huffer blinked, his thoroughly wrung-out hands dropping back to his sides. “And…me,” he reminded him in a small voice, almost too small for Gears to hear. Brawn paused a klik or two, looking startled, before slowly nodding.

“’Course. Sorry.”

“So is that a yes?” Gears called over to them, filing the peculiar conversation away in a subfolder. Huffer shrugged hastily and Gears nodded back appreciatively. “Good to hear! We can take an airway pod to get there. I’ve always loved airway pods—the oily smell, the warmth of everyone next to you. Don’t you like them?” Neither of them were quick to agree, so Gears assumed they were mulling it over and didn’t resent it when they never answered at all. “Oh, and don’t worry, I can give credits for all three of us! I don’t think the driver will mind!”

The driver was a larger frame, young, painted black and white, and he didn’t mind _at all_ when he took the credits Gears offered him along with his most grateful smile. “Much obliged to you…” Gears paused to look at the data card propped up by the controls. “Gauge! Your creators went through a control panel for names then, too? I’m Gears and before you ask, I’m very pleased to be aboard!” Before he could say anything more, Brawn nudged him, indicating that they should take their seats. With a friendly wave, Gears did so, venting deeply.

“There’s the oily smell! It’s so familiar. I go on the airway pods a lot, but I’ve never seen Gauge before! Always nice to meet a new friend!”

“Always? Sure,” Brawn mumbled, leaning back in his seat and shuttering his optics. Gears scooted forward so he could look past him at Huffer, who was staring off into the distance, looking both worried and frustrated. They’d both had an ill-tempered orn, Gears decided. A drink would certainly fix that.

When the airway pod stopped near the Alchemist sector, the three disembarked so they could walk the rest of the way, on Gears’ request. He loved the evening air, though their driver Gauge seemed disappointed that such nice customers wouldn’t be staying any longer. Gears simply smiled at him and jumped off so he could wave. Afterwards he went about showing Brawn and Huffer around, though he wasn’t sure if they were retaining any of the information he was giving them.

They reached the Topper after a nice, brisk walk and Gears turned, blocking the doors from them just long enough to exclaim over the muffled music, “You’re going to love this place! My neighbors and I and others just like us come here all the time!” With that he flung himself through the entryway, shouting a delighted greeting to whoever recognized him first. He gestured wildly to his employees, mouthing their names to familiar faces as they followed him, much more slowly than he might have preferred, but they were just taking it all in.

The inside of the building was very bright, much brighter than other taverns in Culumex, lit by intense silver strobe lights fastened to the ceiling and walls. Huffer blinked, shading his optics as he peered up at them and then immediately looked away.

“Your optics will adjust!” Gears assured them before his own optics widened and he held up a hand. “Ooh, this one! This is one of my favorite datatrax!”

Though their people always preferred deep, firm music, this was more resonance than actual tones, vibrating through the walls and air, much like it was in the NET center. That, in fact, was why Gears liked it, but he had always liked all music in this place. He scratched at his ticklish audials and then bounded toward his favorite booth, often reserved for him by some of the servers who knew him from his past visits and from seeing him in the waiting room for their own visits to the NET tower.

“So what do you think?” he asked hopefully as Brawn and Huffer came to sit beside him, the former grimacing as he forced himself in and the latter hunching over with his hand still over his optics.

“It’s very…clean,” Brawn tried. “And quiet.” Gears straightened proudly.

“Yep! They take pride in that, keeping everything bright and white! That’s what makes it such a nice place to relax!” As though on cue, a sudden crashing startled his workers, who gave each other alarmed glances. Gears looked for the source of the noise and snickered. “Oh! Bullet Runner’s pitching plates again! He likes it when they hit the wall—or another mech—because he thinks they add some nice noises to the music.”

“He just looks angry,” Huffer murmured as he watched Bullet Runner flail and curse at the two larger mechs steering him toward the door.

“At least he’s not angry with us,” Brawn pointed out. Gears was glad he had found some of the good of the situation, turning their attention to the other tenants.

“That’s Crosslight, who I’ve known for several diuns now. She always seems to be having an unhappy orn, so sometimes I go and have a drink with her.” The femme had her arms on the tabletop and her face hidden in them, shoulders shaking silently. Gears made a vague motion at one of the servers and then at her, mouthing, “Treat, please.” This had come to be expected of him.

“And who’s that?” Huffer asked nervously, indicating a mech currently pressing dents into the plating on his forearms and the backs of his hands. Gears watched as he then turned his attention to his blaster, studying it closely, and then shielded his audials as it abruptly misfired.

“That’s Pest. He likes pain,” Gears explained jauntily. At their combined stare, he added, “Though I’m not sure why. Me, I don’t mind pain, but I definitely don’t _want_ it.”

Brawn’s mouth opened before words came, but eventually he commented, “I think that’s the first time you’ve said anything you didn’t like.”

“Ah-ah. I said I didn’t want it, not that I didn’t like it,” Gears corrected playfully. “I don’t feel a need for it. But if it makes Pest happy…”

“No,” Huffer burst out. “Pain isn’t something to be enjoyed. Pain is something to be suffered—believe me, I would know! There’s a…a purpose to it and it’s _not_ a good or happy one.” Belatedly he realized how uncomfortable that might make the conversation, so he drummed his fingers on the tabletop and said nothing else. Brawn cautiously reached for him and he withdrew, hugging his arms around his frame, which left Brawn awkwardly reaching out for nothing, so he dropped his hand.

This scene made Gears wonder: What was it like to _suffer_ pain? For vorns now he hadn’t, still maintaining his chipper mood even if he fell, which wasn’t serious, or somehow drew energon, which was more of a plight—to others. Primus, sometimes it seemed that they lived their entire lives unhappily!

Almost on their own his contemplations veered back to the present and he felt an urge to break the silence among them, so he could get to know them better.

“So how long have you two been pace-mates?” he asked without warning. The two seemed taken aback by this question and he chuckled, knowing it had been rather daring to ask but nonetheless delightfully curious. “I mean, officially?”

“A quintun,” Huffer admitted meekly. “ _Un_ officially.”

“You haven’t done the Ritus yet?” Gears prodded, unsurprised at the negative shake of the helm. “Why not?”

“Why’s it your business?” Brawn demanded, snapping his mouth shut a nanoklik later as he realized how that might be taken by a more sensitive mech. Gears simply kept smiling, so Brawn swallowed and then shrugged impulsively. “We aren’t very much of one.” At the slighted expression Huffer undertook, he added, “Yet. We haven’t…Ugh, paces are in their infancy at twenty vorns! We’ve only been _roommates_ for a quintun!”

“We’ve been _friends_ ,” Huffer argued. “Is that not good enough?”

“Oh, it is,” Gears assured him before Brawn could agree or say otherwise. “Cos, if you think about it, no pace gets to twenty vorns without being together through the first awkward quintun, right? Then you have to get through another and another and then a diun and then a vorn and then twenty!”

Gears had never seen the point in arguing and was doing his best to prevent one here, hoping to encourage them with what he was saying. It was becoming obvious to him that these two didn’t know each other as well as they had simulated at work, but at least his words had both of them nodding. He didn’t know much of pace dynamics since he wasn’t part of one, but the logic seemed simple enough. Gears let them mull it over as the server came and they ordered their drinks, learning that they all coincidentally liked rhodium.

Discussing the metal and its properties made the atmosphere a bit gentler and the arrival of the energon always loosened tongues—how much depended on how stout mechs were with it. Gears was used to this grade and quality, so he was most well-equipped to handle it, but as his two companions relaxed, he decided to take advantage of their openness to suggestion for their own good.

“You could just do the Ritus right here, right now,” he pointed out excitedly. “It’s that chirolinguistic sign called The Weaving, right? It’s done easily enough and I can be an officiant!” That would be a remarkable thing to see and he was sure it would make them both happy later on.

For the first time that Gears could recall, Brawn laughed. “It doesn’t need an officiant!” he scoffed, his vocals tilting enough that Gears suspected he didn’t take offense at the idea, even though he spoke against it. “It’s a private matter for when we’re good and ready.”

Huffer perked up. “S-So we _are_ going to…?” He received a blank look and vaguely waved a hand, clarifying, “When we’re ready, we’ll…I mean, are you gonna be watching for someone else?”

“Nah, I can only handle one…One…at a time,” Brawn claimed, optics scrunching up as he thought that through, making Huffer hide laughter behind his hand. “One pace-mate at a time.”

Gears was satisfied that they had sorted that out, though if they ordered more of the same, they may not _remember_ they had sorted it. If that was the case, he would do them a favor by reminding them, but Brawn’s words of taking only one pace-mate at a time had him feeling that different sort of happiness again, the wanting, which in turn made him the usual sort of happy. He was confused about it, which made him happier, and in the end he decided that was appropriate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gauge (c) Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)


	7. Chapter 7

“Good morning! It’s time for our next ostracism!”

It took Huffer a few kliks to really compute the words, but when the edge of his recharge slab started tipping, he came fully online. “Stop!” he whined, flailing to rise before Brawn sent him tumbling onto the floor. “Is that how you _always_ bring your friends out of recharge?”

“I haven’t decided,” Brawn countered. “Right now I only have one.” Patting his back, he added more sympathetically, “Getting up the next orn after a drinking night is rough, I know, but we’ve got work to do now.”

Huffer nodded, running a hand down his face before muttering, “I’m claiming the wash-racks.”

The time they’d spent living together, as short as it had been, Huffer and Brawn had come up with something of a routine. One would take a good scrub while the other scrounged up whatever food they had left to eat and whatever credits they had left to purchase the _next_ meal. As lovely as their first meal together had been, that had disappeared all too quickly. Then, among the banging and cursing outside their door, Huffer had been left purging as his systems rejected the junk fuel he’d tried to take instead of more expensive but healthier alternatives.

He’d hated that time, spent hunched over the new drain they had installed in the washroom, with Brawn alternated between standing at the doorframe, watching over him, and disappearing into the other room to scare off their enemies. Huffer had asked once how he was doing it, but Brawn had been reluctant to divulge that. It made Huffer remember what he already knew: this pace-leader he had accepted could _easily_ be terrifying if he wanted to be.

 _But he can also be kind_ , _which is why you’re here,_ Huffer chided himself as he let the lukewarm oil wash down his frame. _You have a pace-leader now. Of all bots,_ you _are a One! Don’t be ungrateful_. Filing those thoughts, he finished his wash and had his breakfast, which consisted of a servo salad Brawn had thrown together from fixings. Not only was he kind, he was creative, and Huffer could very much appreciate that. He just wished Brawn’s creativity could have benefited them at work; perhaps it would give them more opportunity to work _together_.

Today was the second orn at their new job and Huffer knew to expect exactly what Brawn had said: a spurn. It was exactly what he’d dealt with before, simply with another group of mechs, Huffer reminded himself when they reached the site. He followed Brawn’s example as they approached Gears, keeping his helm up and optics steady.

At least Brawn had made it clear that they weren’t to be touched by beating down Cloudshift. There wouldn’t be any attempts on their lives today, not unless someone was incredibly stupid.

Their supervisor looked tired, just as Huffer was sure he and Brawn did, but Gears’ mouth still smiled. _Why on Cybertron would they_ do _that to someone?_ Huffer asked himself, not for the first time. _Is he physically unable to frown? Can he cry? Does his spark or processor ever try to resist?_ It was likely the engineer in him that made him want to know how it worked; if he had been trained in any other job, he would be far more disgusted with it, but because he wasn’t trained in another job, he was both intrigued and worried by it. Those scientists were, in a way, engineers gone wrong.

Currently Gears was conversing with a taller mech who seemed solemn but not stern, holding a data projector in one hand and gesturing to the scaffolding with the other. Gears was smiling and nodding appeasably and as they reached audial range, Huffer heard him say, “Sir Hightop, I’d be delighted to add a second wing!”

“Hightop? That’s Gears’ manager,” Huffer murmured. “Wonder what they want the second wing for…”

Brawn’s face had darkened already and he folded his arms, spitting out, “More torture rooms.”

Huffer didn’t get a chance to agree or even fret about the theory, as Gears noticed them coming and called, “Oh! Good to see you both! Hightop, sir, these are your newest employees! They’ve replaced Catapult and Polevault, you see. Brawn is a demolitionist and Huffer is an engineer and both are heavy lifters—”

“An engineer?” Hightop repeated, handing his data projector to Gears. “Good. You can speak with him about the planner’s concerns with the second wing.” Squeezing Gears’ shoulder, he stressed, “You know this needs to be done, right? However possible.”

Gears straightened confidently and gave him a two-fingered salute. “With a little teamwork, you can be sure of success, sir.” Once Hightop had released him, he spun around. “Hmm, I’m afraid that you got here a bit late, my friends, and there are consequences for that.”

Huffer took a step back, yelping, “Are you going to fire us?!”

“Of course not!” Gears scoffed, patting his upper arm. “I just meant there’s more work and less time, but you two work hard. You can get it done! Brawn, those beams that you dented by throwing Cloudshift into them need to be pounded back into shape.” Brawn offered him a sheepish nod and trudged off. “And you, Huffer, I’d appreciate it if you take this data projector and go to the back right corner of the scaffolding. The base girdling needs to be checked so we can see if it’s strong enough for a second wing and add your notes to the projector, alright?”

Seizing the data projector, Huffer obediently strode past his teammates, keeping his expression neutral even as they slung out insults.

“Keep your distance, you glitch!”

“Just wait, turncoat, you’ll get Unraveled too. Don’t come crying to us!”

Did they really think he was that weak? “I don’t plan on it! My first choice would be to throw you in a smelter!” Huffer barked back before venting sharply, reminding himself he had a job to do and if he didn’t want to be the cause of their unemployment, he’d better do it. As brave as his words were, he sped up incrementally when he saw the last mech he’d spoken to trying to lunge in his peripheral vision, stopped by one of the femmes, who knew better.

When he reached the back of the structure, Huffer subspaced the projector and knelt, prying up the plate over the ground access and squinting into it. The hatch was dim, which meant that he needed a light, but he had a strong feeling no one would let him use theirs and even from here he could see that Gears was busy, so he couldn’t ask for one. However, if he kept the plate up, the sunlight would follow him down far enough that he could see the girdling well enough to test it.

Thus he gingerly lowered himself down, religiously keeping away from the edges of the footholds. If one ventured too far down, they could reach the tunnels at Cybertron’s core, which were avoided with almost as much prejudice as Unravelers.

Huffer laughed lightly at this idea and then stepped carefully to the platform on the other side of the hatch, further down and thus a darker area but closer to the base of the scaffolding. Hugging the wall, he mumbled a mild curse at Gears for assigning him to this. He could feel that the wall was slick with grime, essentially negating the time he’d spent in the wash-racks this morning, but he had a feeling he was going to be paid well for this—maybe enough that they could install a heater so the oil in the wash-racks would actually be warm!

Spurred on, he shuffled toward the base, running his fingertips lightly over one of the beams. The building had been erected up from a much thicker platform, thick enough to handle the one wing’s weight, but adding another may very well be overestimating the strength. Sometimes Cybertron wasn’t as strong as its Culumexian residents.

Huffer grimaced worriedly as he recalled the great tragedy Culumex suffered when the Solomus sector was first being constructed. One of the medical centers had been unknowingly built on a weak foundation and had collapsed, sinking into the planet itself. So many paces had been crippled by the losses…Since then, foundation issues had been taken far more seriously; Huffer was certain some of the other engineers would be called in to double and triple-check the work he would do now.

A loud clang caught his attention, forcing him to awkwardly half-turn and see a piece of machinery roll off the platform he’d just stood on minutes before. Before he could even open his mouth to ask what was happening, another, heavier noise rumbled over his helm and then machine parts began raining down.

Yelping and pressing closer to the wall, Huffer watched in horror as, above ground, the newest delivery of heavy equipment was unloaded, warping the hatch under its weight until it snapped and fell soundlessly for a very long time. With that disposed of, the shipment took its place, bearing down on the hatch opening and congesting it completely, leaving the tunnel below in complete blackness.

Processor and spark competing in a panicked race, Huffer strained his optics and audials, trying to keep himself cool and weigh his options. He couldn’t see and could only feel the vibrations of the tools being used above—loud ones, meaning they wouldn’t be able to hear him scream. Jerkily he stretched out his left hand, groping for the thicker platform on which the building rested, which lay at shoulder height with him.

He could feel it when he stretched far enough, but he had no handhold to actually climb onto it and even if he had, though he was slender by mech standards, he would easily get trapped in the gap, between the building platform and the actual ground level.

Trapped…he was trapped already. Huffer vented shakily, shuttering his optics briefly and then opening them again. He was blind either way. Stifling a whimper, he slid one heelstrut along the foothold he stood on. It was about a foot wide, three feet long, which meant he had to remain standing. It was becoming increasingly difficult, as his entire frame had started trembling of its own volition. A wave of dizziness choked him and stole the air from his vents, threatening his internals with another purge.

He had nowhere to go and couldn’t be heard. Only Gears knew he was here and who knew how long it would be before he thought to check on him? He would assume Huffer had decided to be extra thorough in his checking or that he was taking a break and would keep going about his business, and the others—

Gasping, Huffer clung more tightly to the wall, pressing dents into it with numb fingertips. The others…Had they done this purposefully? Had they disregarded Brawn’s warning and instigated this, just like they had cut the cable on the hanging platform? It would just be an ‘unfortunate accident’ if he’d been struck with a piece of machinery and had fallen too far, but no one would care, since it was an Unraveler’s knockoff.

“P-Primus, help me,” he whispered hoarsely, inaudible over the rushing in his audials and the reverberation of his plating against the wall as he shuddered through unwanted memories.

_“Let me out! Let me out! Please, please…”_

_“Not a chance, apprentice. You’re in that box until you recant and say you won’t do it again. Tell me, Huffer, I want to know…Is it dark in there? Can you see what’s in there with you?”_

_“Wh-What is…?”_

_“Do you know what Scraplets are?”_

_“Remix! Please!”_

_“I’ll take that as a yes. These ones we found are so tiny, they can get between the seams of your armor and eat you from the inside. Rumor is this particular breed will even eat mesh—”_

_“I’ll do whatever you say! I—I’ll recant; I won’t try to resign again! P-Please, just let me out, please!”_

_“Good bot. I knew you would eventually.”_

As soon as his foot slipped, adrenaline overrode Huffer’s panic and he flung his arms, his right hand miraculously catching hold of the platform on the opposite side. It was wider than the one he’d been standing on, just wide enough for him to get a leg up. After what seemed to be an endless scrabble, he was kneeling motionless beneath the blocked hatch. Keening brokenly, he doubled over his knees and rested his chamfron against the platform’s cool surface. Despite the all-too-clear fact that he was utterly alone, he was trying desperately not to cry.

It had been a mere diun since he’d had his last panic attack and he had been hoping since Brawn came that his presence would be enough to stave them off, but he hadn’t expected Remix to mix truth and lies so the entire sector was poisoned against them. Remix had gotten to him again through the other workers.

Had the others truly done this? Abruptly he sat up, mouth opening as he focused on thinking it through. They underestimated him; therefore they may not have taken the time to earnestly block the hatch above. He was much stronger than they seemed to realize—in body if not in spark.

He may be blind and walled in and underestimated and panicking, but he was closer to his goal than before. Now that he was underneath the hatch, he needed light to guide how he moved the debris.

“Your spark may be off-kilter, but I’ll never doubt your processor again, Gears,” he whispered as he opened his subspace and withdrew the data projector, fingering it until he found the activator. Reassured by the blue light of the projected floor plans, Huffer held it up to see which pieces of debris he could move without bringing it all down on top of him. Is this what Brawn did? Is this what he was doing up there right now?

 _Brawn_ …Huffer had someone for whom he could be brave. With this thought, he lashed out at the safest beam, severely denting it. _Fraggit, that isn’t good enough!_ he cursed at himself, striking the same place repeatedly, relentlessly. Finally it splintered and he was able to pull down the pieces, letting them drop. With his help, the debris shifted, leaving one less layer on the opening. Venting deeply, he began the same process.

By the eighth or ninth layer, each strike sent a shock of pain down his arms to his shoulder joints. Groaning, he rested, rotated his aching shoulders and then continued.

The sunlight nearly blinded him when it finally filtered through. With fingers leaking energon at all three joints, he subspaced the dead projector, pushed away the extraneous parts left and hoisted himself up. Shuttering his optics, he curled into himself on ground level, sobbing in relief combined with the remainder of his terror.

Strong arms wrapped around his own limp ones and helped him sit up. “What happened?” Brawn demanded as Huffer tried to grasp his wrist, leaving streaks of energon over his plating. “We’ve all been taking a break and I’ve been looking for you. This shipment just came in! Why is there energon on ’em? What—?”

Leaning against him, Huffer burst out raggedly, “I was—the materials fell over the hatch—”

“Primus,” Brawn gasped. “Don’t tell me you were…”

“Remix did it to me once,” he breathed, vents hitching. “Trapped me in a tool box. It was…about as wide as—” He tensed, shivered, and violently retched. Though he wasn’t actually bringing up anything, Brawn was awkwardly patting his back and hushing him like his carrier used to when he contracted malware. He was obviously unsure of what to do in this situation; otherwise he wouldn’t have been as sweet.

When the convulsions finally eased, he looked up, blinking away lubricant to see Gears crouching in front of him. “This must’ve gotten damaged during travel,” he claimed, smiling more gently than usual. Wordlessly Huffer nodded.


	8. Chapter 8

“I’m sure it was an accident, Sir Hightop,” Gears claimed confidently. “No mech would do it on purpose to another, especially not my new engineer. He’s a bit sad but very nice and he hasn’t been here long enough to make enemies of his own.” Enemies of his friend Brawn were another matter, but Gears wasn’t about to mention that. There was no reason for Brawn to get in trouble when he was already so upset about what had happened.

Gears’ processor clicked back to the scene just a joor earlier, when he had given Huffer synthetic bandaging for his hands.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Brawn demanded again, sitting his friend down with his back against a crate. Huffer had nodded mutely, struggling with the bandages as the leaks in his fingers made them slippery. Brawn had snatched up the material, reaching to help, and Huffer had jerked away with a hum in the negative.

“What?” Brawn prompted, confused.

“Hands aren’t to be touched,” Huffer warned tremulously. “Not unless it's the Ritus.”

Gears had perked up hopefully at these words. They really ought to go through with it; it was obvious Huffer wanted to and Brawn had outright stated that he considered the other his One. Why was it so difficult? Gears wondered as Brawn squeezed the bands in frustration.

“This is different,” he tried to reason.

“It’s tradition,” Huffer insisted, though his face spoke volumes of regretting it.

Gears watched Brawn waver between accepting the rebuttal or reminding Huffer that they were anything but traditional for a good minute before pooling the wrappings in Huffer's lap and backing off, striding toward the other employees, who were watching in a faraway cluster. Gears had taken his place, helping the miserable engineer bind his wounds.

It wasn't long after that Hightop had returned for Huffer's report on the structure stability and here Gears now stood, explaining the situation.

"How can you be so sure it wasn’t purposeful?" Hightop questioned. "Do we know of anything Huffer and that other fellow have done to earn hostility? Have you checked up on their backgrounds?"

Gears didn't get the chance to decide on mentioning that Brawn was an Unraveler, as the demolitionist was currently approaching.

“It was an accident, Sirs,” Brawn announced coolly as greeting. “I… _inquired_ after it with the crew. You can be sure of it.”

Approvingly Gears patted Brawn’s arm. He appreciated that Brawn had done a thorough job of the investigation when Gears hadn’t even asked it of him. It was a thoughtful way to care for his friend when Huffer didn’t want the physical aspects of it. Still smiling, Gears raised his eyebrow at his manager, to which Hightop frowned lightly and relented, “Alright. Can you explain the mechanisms of what happened?”

Seemingly dismissed, Gears began to move away as Brawn dissected the incident, only to pause and peer curiously at the scarring on Brawn’s back. How had that happened? Surely it wasn’t from his time here; it came across too old. Perhaps a demolition accident…so why hadn't he requested better protection for the exposed area? Now that Gears was studying it, he saw no protection for the injury at all.

From the beginning it had been apparent to him that Brawn was a rough-and-tumble type of mech, much like others on his crew, but a demolitionist who could very well be in danger doing his job was simply unacceptable, especially on Gears’ worksite. There was surely a way he could help. Perhaps Brawn would respond well to a gentle scolding. Gears opened his mouth to give it and then snapped it shut again, recalling their night in the tavern.

Though Gears had made it clear that he was going to be treating them, around the fourth or fifth round Huffer had leaned across the table and whispered, not as quietly as he believed, “How much’re we spending here, Brawn? We need to conserve.”

Brawn had shaken his helm and shrugged simultaneously, which wasn’t at all a clear answer, but that meant if they had to worry about how many drinks they could afford, they wouldn’t be very enthusiastic about giving up credits for an upgrade.

 _It’s a safety feature_ , Gears reminded himself brightly. _It’s something I can do for them_.

Before Hightop could notice him staring at Brawn’s back and before Brawn noticed Hightop noticing, Gears took off, briskly making his way to the office he had been supplied onsite. Technically it was Hightop’s, but his employer wasn’t here very often so it served the both of them. Gears settled himself in front of the comm. system, grinned at his reflection in the three dark computer screens, and sought after an index of medical facilities.

Edgepolish Clinic was known for its clean work but not for its speed, which made Gears abandon it. He wanted it done for his friend as soon as possible—today. Honor Grave Center, while faster, was high-end and unlikely to service mechs of Brawn’s standing, even if he _did_ leave out the fact that he was cursed.

Drumming his fingers on the desk surface, Gears let his optics rove the area, hoping an idea would come to him. When his gaze settled on the small Lobbing ball replica Hightop kept in his space, Gears laughed knowledgeably. White Wing General was easily the best choice. It had been last vorn that Salvo had asked him to a Lobbing game between two popular teams of larger-frame Wreckers; she’d had an additional pass since she’d failed in convincing Typhoon to leave his quarters.

While there, one of the players had fumbled a throw and the ball had gone awry, damaging their coach. While Gridiron was a sturdy mech, the Culumexians had courteously supplied the teams with their own ball and Culumexian metal was incomparable to what they usually used. Gridiron had recovered nicely at White Wing, receiving an upgrade of roll bars to spare him next time he fell.

Gears was quite pleased with himself and doubly pleased with the idea. He was _triply_ pleased when he called and heard the facility stayed open round the clock and could easily fit Brawn in tonight.

“I very much appreciate it!” he exclaimed before hanging up, giggling in delight. It would be wonderful to see Brawn tomorrow and make sure that a fine job had been done; he deserved it, working so hard as he did.

 _Speaking of working, it’s about time you made sure those other mechs don’t get into mischief_ , he admonished himself good-naturedly, leaping to his feet.

As usual, Gears felt a spark of pride as he watched his employees. Hightop was overly serious, which made them work harder when they thought he was watching, but even on a normal orn Gears was grateful for them. They weren’t such a bad group of mechs—grumpy or angry sometimes, but Gears didn’t mind. He enjoyed doing favors for them to cheer them up.

“Oh!” he gasped, scurrying toward Slipup, who was hunched over something he’d set on his knee. “What’s that? Another accident?”

Slipup furtively peeked up at him, mumbling, “Um, yeah. I’m guessing someone…um, _accidentally_ broke my cable cutters.”

Losing a tool was a very discouraging happenstance, Gears recalled. As of yet he hadn’t been the recipient of such bad luck, but he could tell that Slipup was feeling quite down about it. “Aw, well, I have a spare set of them which I can loan to you,” Gears assured him. “I don’t think your work requires them right now, but I’ll get them to you soon.”

Slipup didn’t seem as encouraged by this as Gears would have expected, but it was then that his attention was taken by a beam slipping from the stack Blitzglitch was carrying. Lunging, Gears managed to catch it before it hit the ground, tsking at the same time he ducked as Blitzglitch whirled around obliviously and thereby swung the others at him.

“Careful, buddy,” Gears warned with a forgiving smile. “You’re supposed to have tied these up before you moved them!”

After Blitzglitch muttered his apologies and walked on, Gears followed his example, correcting mistakes he found and chatting with anyone who had a nanoklik. It was said sometimes that the affection workers had for their boss was evident in how they listened to him. Gears was happy that if asked, he could honestly say his crew liked him. He only had to give them mild admonishments once in a while and Gears couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to let someone go. No one _wanted_ to go.

After making the rounds, Gears noticed Huffer somehow hadn’t moved from where he’d been sitting this morning. That was quite a feat; their people were known for detesting lack of activity. Bounding over, he waved and plopped down on the ground across from him.

“How’re the hands?” he asked supportively.

Huffer pursed his lips and bent his fingers, vents catching in pain. “Unhappy,” he sighed, “not unlike the rest of me.”

Tilting his helm, Gears hesitated for a klik or two before asking, “What makes you happy?”

“What makes _you_ happy?” Huffer countered, almost accusingly.

Gears legitimately considered the question. It stirred something in his spark that made him think about it longer than he had in the past, but eventually he fell to his natural answer. “Everything makes me happy!”

“But why?” Huffer demanded, throwing up his bandaged hands. “If—if _you_ had your hands hurt, what would you feel?”

“Well, I’d be grateful that I have bandages on to stop the leaking,” Gears replied unflinchingly, mildly surprised at Huffer’s crestfallen expression. The surprise didn’t last long, leaving a lingering sensation of satisfaction with his honesty.

“I…” Briefly the engineer shuttered his optics. “So much is wrong with—with the entire world, Gears, and I guess I can’t see the good in everything like you can.”

That would all change once they completed this tower, Gears remembered contentedly. Placing a hand on Huffer’s shoulder and unminding when he flinched away, he soothed, “Don’t worry. I suspect Brawn is planning a nice surprise for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I'm pretty sure that upgrade will be a surprise to Brawn too, Gears! Might not want to get Huffer's hopes up in case he thinks it's the Ritus being planned. :/
> 
>  
> 
> Gridiron (c) Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)


	9. Chapter 9

“You—you did _what?_ ” Brawn gasped, coming off of the seat Gears had placed him in. Fortunately they were in the onsite office, which made sure the others didn’t hear his reaction to this news.

“I made you a medical appointment,” Gears repeated, beaming proudly even as he tilted his helm, seeming curious. “I hope it’s not too much of a bother. If you have other plans, we can schedule it for tomorrow, cos I wouldn’t want you to—”

“Gears,” Brawn snapped, cutting him off and then rubbing a hand down his face, considering what he could say. “ _Please_ tell me it’s not with NET.”

Straightening, Gears moved around him, pushing the chair toward the wall so he could more easily circle him. Brawn tensed, wondering what his manager was doing, until he felt a fingertip tap his back. “No, it’s for this.”

Rotating, Brawn doubled his fists. “Since when do you get to do that?!”

“Since workers on my site need to be safe—which has been forever!” Gears shot back cheerfully, folding his hands in front of him. “If I had noticed it sooner, I would’ve _done_ it sooner. Besides, I really think it would do your One some good to know you’re protected.”

“I don’t need protection,” Brawn spat, a chill curling around his spark at the words. Presently he couldn’t tell if it was the cold of anger or anxiety, but it was making him all the more defensive. “And he—nothing does him any good.”

“I’ve noticed,” Gears agreed, his vocals gentling. “But it’s cos he’s lonely. I haven’t experienced that myself, but I’ve seen it all the time in one of my neighbors. Typhoon wants to come out of his house, so Salvo asks him to. Salvo’s a little sweet on him, I think—but it never works. He doesn’t have a pace and she does. He’s scared of that, just like he’s scared of everything.”

He may not be the shiniest tool in a set, but Brawn could draw the connections that Gears was hinting. Huffer was worried because Brawn had been leader of another pace once. He had to be scared of the curse.

Maybe…covering the scar would help him forget it a little.

“Alright,” he sighed, releasing all the air from his vents. “Where and when is this medical place?”

The walk to the White Wing facility felt very long, despite the short distance. Brawn sipped at the high-grade energon cube Gears had given him before he left, priming his systems for an upgrade, and laughed humorlessly as he recalled the instances he’d seen patients who hadn’t even needed induced stasis because they’d been a bit vigorous in their hydrating.

Nighttime in Culumex was something many felt compelled to stop and observe. As the sunlight dimmed, light generators powered up, giving the air a charge, and if a bot turned in a complete circle, they could see several unfinished constructions towering around them. As other cities went into recharge, Culumexians were taking the opportunity to show off how their work was coming along.

It wasn’t abnormal for the streets to grow busier at this time of the night, though the carriers tended to stay in if their sparklings were still only first-frames. In a way it was an intervention that the burly workers stayed out at night, when any unsavory characters emerged and threatened the peace. Tonight’s air was a bit crisp now that dusk was falling, but that wasn’t why Brawn shivered. He was on a nearly empty street. It had happened on a night just like this…Growling, he stuffed the mostly-empty energon cube in a chute and hurried, determined to outrun his thoughts.

The facility was one Brawn hadn’t been to before, not even when he had received the source of his problems. He’d been taken to a rather distasteful place, cramped full of those unfortunates who couldn’t afford anything else. At that place, it was said, it would be a common sight for a carrier to be giving up her sparkling to put in a care home.

Brawn swallowed hard as he remembered coming out of stasis with tarps bound to his back to hinder energon loss. He had panicked, looking around to reorient himself. There were all manners of patients in the same room—a mech having the circuits in his arm restrung, another coming down from a spark flux, a femme having two fingers reattached—who knew how she’d lost them?

Past a mech being treated for burning up too much magnetic energy, there sat a fetching golden femme holding an equally golden sparkling, but her optics were cold as she handed the little one over to the medics.

Sparklings were to be treated as blessings from their Creator, most precious to their people, and at the time Brawn had wanted nothing more than to direct his pain and anger at her. He’d started to rise, only for a medic he hadn’t seen to intervene, pushing him back down with surprising strength.

“Don’t bother trying to convince her. That’s the third one,” he murmured. His words had only spurred Brawn on and he had managed three or four steps before his systems had revolted, retreating back into stasis and sending him onto the floor.

“Sir? Are you coming inside?”

The voice broke Brawn out of his tense halt and warily he obeyed, approaching the medic who had poked her helm out the White Wing doors. The place wasn’t tall but wide, its roof sweeping in complex points, ivory paint giving it a clean but unassuming manner.

“What’s your designation?” she asked as she bustled around the desk, poising her fingers over the computer expectantly.

She didn’t seem very hostile, but Brawn still had to wonder if Gears had mentioned his curse. “Brawn,” he mumbled, hoping she wouldn’t react badly. To his relief, she didn’t, nodding at the screen.

“That’s right, I scheduled you earlier this afternoon for an upgrade…Does your pace need to be informed that you’re doing this?”

For reasons unknown to the clerk, Brawn barked an incredulous laugh, receiving a curious look from her which encouraged him to drop the twisted smile that had appeared.

“Sorry. I don’t have a pace.” He kept it at that, knowing she probably wouldn’t appreciate it if he informed her that his old pace was the reason he was here.

“Alright, then. Any family members—?”

“No.”

“Loved ones of _any_ kind? Friends?”

From the way Gears had told it, he hadn’t let Huffer know about this. He’d wanted it to be a surprise for him, so Brawn would keep it that way, to make up for the way he’d reacted when Huffer had noticed the damage. He still cringed a little when he thought of the look on Huffer’s face as he’d backed against the wall. Even so, he hesitated for a few kliks before shaking his helm.

“No, none.”

The clerk gave him a rather sympathetic smile, apparently not bothering to wonder why this was the case, and then slid over to him some normal disclaimers that would come along with the upgrade. Brawn tried not to worry about how he was going to pay for this. It wasn’t as if Gears would make an appointment without his knowledge and then expect him to scrounge up credits for it!

As he sat in the empty waiting room, Brawn grimaced at the shameful realization that their manager was funding most of the important aspects of their lives. He tried not to think of it, answering several questions on the chart such as his specific paint colors, spark type, and what frame he was in.

The chill in his spark was still there, squeezing more tightly and distracting him. Even if it was supposed to be a surprise, it would have been nice to have Huffer sitting with him here, for support. Brawn wasn’t always a fan of delayed gratification and he had a feeling seeing the other mech’s happiness that they were doing this would be doing him good right about now.

But _they_ weren’t doing this. It was just him, courtesy of Gears. Why was he so intent on helping them? Of course Brawn could put it down to his programming, but from what he could see, Gears had been spending more time with them than the other workers since their arrival. Sometimes Brawn appreciated it and sometimes it frustrated him to no end.

Why was he so determined for them to perform the Ritus? When had it become his business?

He still hadn’t puzzled out this question when the chief surgeon called for him and requested he come pick out his upgrade from the ones in his colors. When Brawn went into the backroom, there were plenty to choose from and he rolled his optics when he was told to “pick the one that stood out to him”. Still he negated his own skepticism when he paused at a thick, wide backpack that narrowed closer to the top. Knocking his knuckles against its surface, he followed the mild reverb with his fingers to the clasps which kept it together. They were of good make if they held together so many layers.

“I like the sound of it,” he commented aloud, startling himself. “Let’s do this one.”

As he was directed to the medical berth, he was given a few minutes to finish the coding for his self-induced stasis. Even now he wasn’t sure this was the right choice, but that wasn’t where his contemplations went.

_“You’ve been a little…wayward lately, Cardsharp.”_

_“Oh? What makes you say that?” his One questioned, quite mildly for how his temper could be. Brawn nudged him meaningfully._

_“C’mon, don’t play like that; you know what I mean. All the sneaking out at night when you think we’re all in recharge, not wanting to spend too much time at the table.”_

_Cardsharp straightened, crossing his arms expectantly as he walked beside his leader. “Overboard’s been making predictions again, hasn’t he?”_

_“Not just him. Blowsweep and Ignition have a bet on what you might be doing. Hitch…he’s worried, and you know how he gets when he’s worried.” Brawn glanced at him with a slight smile and found none in return, so he sobered. “What’s been happening? Be honest with me, ’Sharp—are you in with that crowd again?”_

_“I promised you I wouldn’t be,” he reminded Brawn coolly._

_“But that doesn’t answer my question. Are you or aren’t you?” he insisted as they reached their quarters, half-shouldering between Cardsharp and the entryway, determined to receive a definitive answer._

_“Why would it matter to you?” the smaller mech demanded defensively, pushing past anyway._

_“Because I told you not to be!” Brawn cried indignantly, pursuing. “I thought I’d made it clear—”_

_“Oh, you made it perfectly clear, leader,” Cardsharp spat, planting his hands on his hips. “You made it clear that you favor the others over me. Because I’m your One, you’re determined to keep a leash on me while you pay attention to the needs of the others!”_

_“That group—that organization—isn’t one of your ‘needs’,” Brawn growled. “Because you’re supposed to be turning to us! The only reason I supposedly favor the others is because they’re here so I can pay attention to them. But since you seem to think otherwise, maybe you do need a leash. If you’re made to stay here, you won’t be insecure enough to think I don’t care for you.”_

_He hadn’t yet decided how he was going to enforce this. He could tell his pace-mates that Cardsharp had broken his promise and that they needed to keep watch on him, but the more sensitive members of the pace could very well panic and believe that things weren’t well between their leader and their One._

_“Don’t turn your back on me!” Cardsharp howled, the last thing Brawn heard before this fear was proven to be reality_.


	10. Chapter 10

Gears’ walk home was quite nice, admiring all of the buildings he was passing and waving to anyone who might wave back. He loved their city at night, all of the lights comforting and ensuring that there were very few dark corners. Gears didn’t mind the darkness, but he wasn’t _overly_ fond of it. He could remember the times when he was little, his carrier holding his hand very tightly as they walked home.

“Keep walking, sweet,” Gadget would urge him pleasantly, quickening her pace. “Put on your turbo, eh? And keep close.”

The little Gears would nod, taking steps as wide as his small legs could stretch and fantasizing that one day he would indeed have turbo thrusters in his feet. It would be the best augmentation ever and he would make all of his friends jealous!

Gears of the present could remember being distracted sometimes by the feelings in his carrier’s EM field. They were…not quite matching up with her kind vocals, sometimes not by a long shot. He hadn’t known what it meant and now he wasn’t sure how to replicate them to puzzle them out. He could understand, however, that maybe creators had times in which they needed to hide their true feelings from their little ones, simply because the sparkling might not grasp the need for those emotions. Even so, once they reached home, Gadget would hug him tightly and revert to her proper self, happy in both voice and spark.

Enjoying the memory, Gears hugged his arms close to his chest as he entered his quarters, activating the boosters in his feet and shooting up toward the ceiling before floating easily back down, beautifying the landing with a little spin before heading for the kitchen. Perhaps he could invite his creators over for a cube sometime.

This thought made him smile, though he wasn’t sure why. He hadn’t thought of an idea like that in…vorns. Why was he only just considering it now?

If he were to have them over, what would he give them? Gears opened the energon hutch and studied his selections. He could give his sire, Switch, the aluminum base…or perhaps the tin. Switch had always had dubious internals, which made it hard to choose proper fuel for him. He was eternally fond of tungsten, despite what it did to his systems.

Gadget would probably like the gallium mix, just as he did. Gears beamed and snatched it out of the cupboard, racing to the table with an empty cube. He would allow himself to measure out only a little, since in this sector gallium was found to be rare. The scientists often wanted to use it, which meant there wasn’t much to go into drinks.

When he looked up from the cube, Gears experienced something quite irregular: his smile faltered. It happened for _barely_ a nanoklik as he abruptly realized he was still alone. He ought to have some friends here, he decided, brightening again. It would be wonderful to have some company!

He stepped outside, crossing the street after carefully looking both ways, as Gadget had so ordered him. His processor kept straying to her and he liked that; his memories of her were very fond. Typhoon, who was staring with wide optics through his window, ducked as soon as Gears waved, earning a knowing smile.

“Hello, Airlock!” Gears called, approaching a home closer to the tower and its resident, who was in the process of kicking over his outside chair for reasons unknown. “Would you like a cube of energon with gallium to calm you down?”

“I don’t— _need_ to be—calmed _down!_ ” Airlock howled, kicking the chair to enunciate each portion of his sentence. “And I hate gallium!”

Gears paused, considering what he could say to that. “You know, you remind me of someone I see at the tavern, Bullet Runner. He has some mood swings, you see—”

“Mood swings?” Airlock echoed incredulously, whirling toward him with fists clenched. “You think _I_ have moods wings, compared to him?!”

“Oh, do you know him?” Gears asked, feeling completely unthreatened. He knew he could defend himself but he would only if necessary. “Are you two friends?”

“We’re _brothers_ ,” Airlock spat. “Or we were, till he tried to kill me cos of what that tricursed, stupid, slaggin’ program did to him! To both of us!” Growling, he kicked the chair again, promptly splintering it.

Though he was sure from Airlock’s reaction and curses that he hadn’t enjoyed the experience, Gears couldn’t really imagine it since he’d so enjoyed his. “Maybe you should try to make amends,” he suggested. “With both your brother and NET. If you explain the situation, they might be able to make you happier.”

For a long minute his neighbor simply stared at him, appearing vaguely crazed, and then he shuttered his optics and stormed into his quarters, the door sliding closed far too languidly behind him. Gears smiled at it, knowing he had done what he could to help, and that satisfied him even when he heard things breaking from inside.

After righting Airlock’s broken chair and leaning it against the front wall by the door, Gears let his optics wander to the houses on his side. He didn’t know the occupants of the quarters closer to the tower, for no lack of trying; he’d actually never been able to catch a glimpse of them. He’d once asked Venture about them.

“Who lives in the houses closest to you?”

Venture had hesitated to answer for a while, almost until he’d forgotten he’d asked the question, and then she’d replied, “They were some of the first to enlist in our program.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” Gears mused. “They’re closest to you because they’re the most happy, aren’t they?”

“You could say that,” Venture agreed with a very small smile.

Therefore Gears had always thrown a hello to the houses which remained dark, not receiving a greeting in return, but he had a feeling he would one orn.

Presently Gears’ gaze rested on Salvo’s house, brightly lit and contrasting with those other quarters. He returned to his side of the street, leaning on her railing and opening his mouth to call out to the door, slightly ajar. He swallowed the words a nanoklik later when he saw Salvo with her pace-mates through the window, preparing for their own dinner, and he decided to simply observe them for a minute or two.

There were five pace-mates that Gears knew of. Their leader was a mech named Gleamray, a relatively ‘normal’ mech—in fact, he _always_ managed to maintain a monotonous, solemn aura. A mech named Ace was his One, always ready with a prank and a good laugh; next was Phasecase, a femme caught up in daydreams; Wallop, a mech known to be quite domineering; and Salvo herself, the pace-mate who kept them connected to the outside world and whom Wallop protected quite fiercely.

Gears watched them interact, noting the gravitations between certain pace-mates. Gleamray avoided Ace, as though he already expected a prank to be putting him in danger, but Ace clung to him, squeezing his shoulders and laughing hysterically. Wallop was currently waving a hand in front of Phasecase, trying to bring her around, and Salvo was setting the table, laughing at whatever Ace was saying. Gears thought he heard something about ingesting helium and frame polish, but he didn’t dare speculate what the answer could be. He might ask Salvo the answer sometime.

 _Having a pace must be quite a dynamic life_ , Gears mused warmly. He was quite happy for them and decided not to intrude since this time was obviously special to them.

After drinking the gallium mix by himself, Gears studied the empty chairs lining the table. Settling his chin in one hand, he shuttered his optics briefly and tried to impersonate Phasecase, imagining what it might be like to have a dynamic pace of his own.

One of them would probably tease him, maybe even tell jokes about him to the others, who would either laugh along or stand up for him. Their One might call something from the kitchen about how appropriate the jokes were and look for support to their leader, who would roll his optics and nod agreement even when he was trying not to smile.

Could it be coincidence or was he imagining all of them happy, like him, for a reason? _Well, I want all of them to be happy too. It wouldn’t be such a bad life if a pace is supposed to make people happy_.

Pondering this, Gears blinked a few times as he rose from his seat and trailed toward the berthroom, which was too small for a pace but cozy nonetheless. Maybe they could fit two recharge slabs end to end at the end of the berth, which two could share if they had separate tarps.

Why was he thinking of this? _Because it makes me happy_. He held onto this particular vein of happiness as he hopped into his berth and it kept him online most of the night.

The next morning, Gears seriously considered mentioning the idea of a pace to Venture. As far as he knew, she didn’t have one of her own, but it would be interesting to hear her take on it. In fact, his vision of a potential pace had just changed to accommodate her. What would it be like if they were pace-mates? She could be like Wallop for Salvo, keeping an optic on his numbers and making him happy simultaneously. He was distracted from that, however, as she scrolled through his chart, raising her eyebrows.

“Well…that’s interesting. Gears, I’ll admit your numbers are fluctuating a little today, though they're still within normal parameters. Has anything changed in your routine?”

“I didn’t recharge as much as usual last night,” Gears admitted, deciding against telling her why. He’d get too bashful to articulate it correctly and he wanted to preserve it as it should be until he could find the words.

“Ahh, that makes sense,” Venture sympathized. “We have some mild circuit boosters that can help with that. I take them all the time to help me recharge.”

“Why?” Gears wanted to know, kicking his legs back and forth off the medical berth. “Is it hard for you to recharge?”

Much like she had when he’d asked about the dark houses, Venture took several kliks to answer. “I suppose so,” she consented at last. “But I don’t have to worry about it with the brand of boosters I use. Would you like some?”

Gears shrugged and nodded with an amiable smile, all the while wondering, _Would it be easier to recharge with pace-mates surrounding me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To quote King Theoden in Lord of the Rings, "So it begins..."
> 
> By the way, Ace's joke goes as follows:  
> A: "Hey, hey, Gleamray, what happens when you ingest helium and frame polish right before you recharge?"  
> G: "Do I even want to know?"  
> A: "The next morning, you'll rise and shine! HAHAHAHA!"  
> G: "...."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Compositus - the specific proposal that two should become pace-mates  
> Culicit - the "courting" period, where the potential pace-mates grow close

Huffer didn’t recharge. Instead he curled into himself as tightly as he could and stared at the empty recharge slab beside him, his processor swirling with questions.

_Where has he gone? He hasn’t stayed out without telling me before. Is this what he did before he offered his **compositus**?_

Drawing in his vents and holding them, Huffer fisted one hand so firmly into his thermal tarp that his fingers were leaving creases and creating folds as they held the coverlet in place. Even though the material was thick, he felt cold, as though he were lying on the street. Just before the tarp tore under the strain, he released it, his motions gentling as he spread his fingers over the fabric, loosely miming chirolinguistics.

The Ritus didn’t have as much meaning when there was no partner, but he continued to practice just in case Brawn came to his senses about how much Huffer wanted it—no, how much he _needed_ it. Of course he understood there was need for the **culicit** ; he wasn’t debating it, but their time wasn’t bringing them closer together as it ought to. They were supposed to be spending this time becoming familiar with each other! Huffer could say he had tried, but Brawn wasn’t reciprocating. He was doing his best to be patient, since he had a feeling an Unraveler would find it hard to commit to something like that again. But what if he was thinking of breaking it off? What if he had traded everything he cared about—his home, the memory of his creators, the possessions he had—for this one thing, and it wasn’t enough for Brawn? What would he be if not a pace-mate?

“Stranded in the offering…” he murmured. It was something his sire had warned against, committing too quickly, and now he was afraid he had done just that for something too extreme.

Nighttime passed this way, with him asking questions of himself and then desperately trying to answer them. _Is he trying to get away from me? Have I been bearing down on him? No, he’s just…stuck on the other side of town. He decided to stay over there since he was too tired to travel. That must be it. Is he going to pay for a place to spend the night over there? But he shouldn’t have; it’ll use up our credits. How many do we have left? What bills do we have left to pay?_

When sunlight finally filtered through their window, Huffer sat up and threw off his tarp, utterly exhausted. When he checked his recharge log, he groaned when he found it at five percent and scrubbed a hand down his face. The softness of synthetic cloth reminded him of what had happened and he shivered a little.

Carefully unwinding the bandages, Huffer peered at the cuts on his fingers. The plating was already healing; it was simply the mesh underneath that needed more time. Nevertheless, he could do some work today, not that he wanted to if he was going to be on the worksite alone. He didn’t want to imagine what might be done to him if Brawn wasn’t there.

He greatly considered calling in and asking Gears for the orn off, not so he could recover but so he could look for Brawn. Where on Cybertron was he? Why had there been no word? They hadn’t yet swapped internal comm. codes and they couldn’t afford a communications hub in their quarters yet, so Brawn couldn’t call him.

Rising, he shuffled into the kitchen and stared despondently at the fuel they had: two-thirds of an energon cube, a box of wheel-nuts, and a stack of cesium salami. He took the salami back to his recharge slab, not for the first or last time wishing he had a real berth as he had in his old home. Tightly shuttering his optics, he pressed a hand to his chamfron as he chewed, a helm-ache coming on strong.

He truly didn’t feel well; surely Gears would let him bow out from work today if he found some way to call and let him—

Huffer jumped as the door slid open. “Brawn!” he called out, relieved, but out of his uncertainty he remained sitting. “Where were you? I—I was worried!”

Rewarding the words with a thin, slightly pained smile, Brawn straightened, maneuvering himself through the door without touching either side of the frame. Huffer watched, puzzled by this, and Brawn finally answered with mild strain to his vocals, “Gears gave me some advice and I took it.”

Perking up, Huffer recalled Gears’ words that Brawn might be planning something. He hadn’t yet answered the question of _where_ he was, so he was allowed to draw his own conclusions. Had Brawn been…getting up his courage? It was a possibility, but Huffer didn’t want to get his hopes up too high in case whatever this was turned out to be a letdown, so he tilted his helm and pretended to be oblivious.

“What advice? Was it good advice?” Laughing a bit nervously, he added, “What, advice on how to be happy? He’d know all about that.”

“I guess he would, but it wasn’t that. Look,” Brawn urged, pivoting. Huffer naturally began to avert his optics, not wanting to see the scarring, but the same optics widened in disbelief when he saw the metal layering overtop of the wound.

“You have an upgrade!” Huffer burst out.

“Good deduction,” Brawn praised as he swiveled around to face him again and nodded confirmation. “And I even got it for free. What d’you think, buddy?” His pride in his achievement was evident in his EM field even from this distance. It was obvious he was pleased with it and wanted Huffer to share in that, but right now he was having trouble processing it.

“You had this done last night. Sh-Shouldn’t you be in hospital care?” he demanded.

“Nah, it only hurts a little,” Brawn assured him, but it didn’t comfort Huffer in the least. His spark was starting to throb, confusion and hurt mingling, setting him in a stiffer, more challenging posture even while he was sitting.

“It’s a surgery, Brawn! You—you just went off and had a _major, permanent surgery_ without telling me?!” His vents were kicking up several notches and he struggled to hold down his panic. “I-I-I know they ask questions beforehand! ‘Do you have family, pace-mates, or _friends!_ ’ If I didn’t get informed, you had to say… _no!_ Why would you—?!”

“Well, it was supposed to be a surprise!” Brawn protested indignantly.

“I hate surprises! Hasn’t that become obvious to you by now?!” Huffer cried, instigating a glare.

“Oh, it’s obvious,” Brawn snapped, his entire demeanor changing like a switch had been pulled. “You make it very clear—by overreacting!”

For once Brawn’s anger wasn’t scaring Huffer; he was able to match it with his own. “How am I overreacting? What if something had gone wrong, Brawn? What if a medic had slipped? You could’ve been _maimed_ and who would’ve been there for you?” Choking out an incredulous laugh, Huffer exclaimed, “Certainly not me! I just get fed and go to work with you, like a trusty pet!”

“What in the Pit are you talking about?!”

“You don’t trust me!” he hollered back, almost surprised at his daring but not quite. It was about time this came out and he wasn’t going to backpedal now. “If I’d thought you trusted me before, I don’t now. I’ve told you things about my past, I’ve told you what I like and what I don’t, what I believe. I’ve stuck to tradition so you can learn about me, but I’m not getting anything back!”

“You don’t give me a chance,” Brawn tried, but Huffer shook his helm vigorously.

“I’ve given you lots of chances! I’ve shown my spark and it’s _hard_ for me, but you won’t show yours! You won’t prove you’re committed! You—you take from me and you don’t give back—just like Remix!” The last three words were unintentional and Huffer abruptly realized that even now he was showing his spark; one of his deepest fears since he’d accepted the **compositus** was that Brawn would turn out to be no different. The other mech, predictably, didn’t appreciate the accusation.

“Oh, don’t you _dare_ compare me to him!” Brawn growled. “Who rescued you from him?”

“You did,” Huffer admitted, leaning forward and continuing pleadingly, “And I’ll always be grateful, but I—I need to know you’ve brought me to a _better_ life! I need to know who I’m bonding to!”

Why couldn’t he understand? A range of emotions passed over Brawn’s face, too quickly for Huffer to read them, but through clenched teeth he offered, “What do you want?”

It was a way of appeasing him, not of making amends, Huffer realized, another surge of anger twisting his spark until it turned cold. He jabbed a finger right at him, spitting out, “You got that because of what happened with your last pace. What _did_ happen?”

“You can’t ask me that,” Brawn shot back.

“Yes, I can!” Huffer insisted. He was caught up in his righteous resentment now, sure of himself and what he was demanding to be told. “I deserve to know.”

Brawn started slightly, just a nanoklik before he clenched his fists. “Why?” he hissed. “Who do you think you are?”

In the span of time it took Brawn to speak those words, lubricant welled in Huffer’s optics. He blinked and it ran over, spilling down his face, but he didn’t notice. It took him perhaps two kliks to compute the question and then he sprang upright, seizing Brawn by the arms and slamming his healing back into the wall behind him. The larger mech yelped like a wounded turbo-puppy but Huffer couldn’t find it in him to care, screaming at him:

“ _I’m your One!_ ”

As their faces were only inches apart, Huffer could clearly see the pain clouding Brawn’s optics—as well as the amazement and alarm at his words. He couldn’t read anything more as Brawn took advantage of his distraction, heaving him off and across the room. Huffer caught himself just as Brawn stormed out, again leaving him alone. Whimpering softly, he sank down where he was and drew his knees to his chest. In claiming his title, he had just broken whatever they had been creating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :'(


	12. Chapter 12

After leaving his appointment with Venture, Gears prepared to head for work. He was going to try renegotiating how they could add the second wing to the building; maybe they could put it on the other side, which had more reinforcement than the area Huffer had examined. In any case, he was in a hurry to get there.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Slinger,” he called merrily to the mech at the NET center’s front desk, who offered his thin smile and nodded in return.

The morning was just as clear and crisp as it always was, filled with the smell of metal and the sound of good work. Though he was in a hurry, Gears couldn’t help but pause to enjoy the sensation and watch sunlight filter through the buildings and reflect on their window panels. He did stop but didn’t really get the opportunity to admire anything, as someone larger abruptly grabbed him from behind. Gears squeaked in surprise, wondering if this was a fun prank of some sort, until he was turned around and shaken.

“Why did you convince me to go through with this?” Brawn demanded. Gears could sense that he meant his upgrade. He was looking and sounding a bit jittery; perhaps it was a side effect of getting out of hospital so soon, but Gears didn’t want to be rude, so he didn’t admonish him for that.

“Ooh, it looks nice,” Gears complemented him even as he was shaken again, much more insistently. “What did Huffer think? Was he surprised?”

Brawn’s vents were clearly struggling to catch up with their owner, so he didn’t answer right away, slumping in dismay. “Yeah,” he spat bitterly. “ _Very_ surprised. And apparently he’s decided I don’t trust him.”

Gears tilted his helm, grabbing Brawn’s arm as he himself had been grabbed just a minute ago. “C’mon, let’s go to my house and talk about it. I’ve just remembered some things I need to grab for work.”

Brawn couldn’t find it in himself to wait until they reached the house, spilling out everything that had happened along the way. Gears’ theory that he was quite hyperaroused was confirmed in the wide gesticulating and sharp tones he was using, catching the neighbors’ attention. Airlock in particular seemed keen on confronting Brawn about the racket he was making, but once he saw Gears walking beside the offender he hesitated. Gears waved pleasantly and Airlock bared his teeth in response, storming back into his home and breaking a few more of his personal items.

It seemed Brawn considered his situation to be a very unfortunate happenstance, but Gears wasn’t considering it that way. It was a big step for Huffer, from what he could see, to confront a mech stronger and sterner than him about trust, but Gears continued to listen without any comments. As he did, he couldn’t help noticing that the odd happiness that was shifting his numbers had returned and was growing with each word Brawn said. It was a bit distracting. He knew he wanted something—something to do with a pace, but what on Cybertron could it be?

 _I suppose_ , he mused, _that I want to be part of something. I want to feel included, I want to be part of a nice pace like this—and theirs is_ definitely _nice. It’s clear that they have some issues, but surprisingly enough, that’s what makes them good pace-mates!_

_Gleamray and Ace have issues, but they function just fine as the leaders of Salvo and the others. Brawn and Huffer just need to sit down and have a calm talk about everything, like Brawn and I are going to do. It makes me very proud that Brawn thinks he can trust me with all of this._

In fact, why _did_ Brawn think he could trust him with this? Gears thought back to what Huffer had said to him just after the underground incident:

“So much is wrong with—with the entire world, Gears, and I guess I can’t see the good in everything like you can.”

Brawn must be like Huffer in that way, thinking that Gears could see the best of the world and knowing he wouldn’t be made unhappy if he was asked to share a load. That thought gave Gears the impulse to put an arm around Brawn’s shoulders. It was a stretch now because of the upgrade but he still managed it, causing Brawn to pause in his explanation of what Huffer had done when he’d asked who he thought he was.

“Thank you,” Gears said simply.

“For—for what?”

Gears laughed and then clarified, “I’m glad you think you can trust me!”

He giggled a bit more as he physically felt Brawn startle at the words and then shrug away so he could half-turn in his direction. “I _can_ , can’t I?” the pace-leader asked sharply. “You’re not going to tell anyone this.”

“No, of course not,” Gears promised. “But if you’re going to tell me this, you should probably tell me why you had such a big reaction when he asked. You don’t have to tell me about your past because I wouldn’t want to be nosy, but from what I can tell there wasn’t a reason to get so upset when Huffer’s your One and he needs to know all the facts!”

He felt Brawn’s EM field tighten and he beamed in return to Brawn’s scowl, innocently smiling away the oncoming storm. They both recognized that Brawn wouldn’t want to push away another mech asking about his past because then he wouldn’t have anyone to whom he could vent.

“I…don’t like all the facts,” Brawn muttered as they entered Gears’ quarters. “I’ve tried really hard to forget them. They—fraggit all, they remind me how much of a half-clock I was, how I messed everything up with my last One. And now…” It would have startled anyone else how quickly Brawn softened from resentment into worry. “Now I’ve messed things up with my second One. I think I just ruined my chances for a new pace.”

“Aw, no, you haven’t,” Gears scoffed assuredly. “Coming from an unplaced mech, you can believe me when I say you and Huffer will be just fine.”

“How do you know?” Brawn mumbled despondently, watching Gears go to the energon hutch and reach for two elite high-grade cubes at the back of the very top shelf.

Gears chuckled proudly and returned to where the larger mech was slumped by the door. “Because you’re going to go back and patch things up.” Pushing the two cubes into Brawn’s hands, Gears added, “Here. You can take those as a peace offering.”

Brawn gaped at him, his entire demeanor straightening from defeat into nervousness. “I-I can’t just—” Gears could tell he was searching desperately for an excuse. “What if he—I mean, I have other things to do—”

“Other things that are more important than this?” Gears asked with a skeptical smile. “Brawn. If you really meant your **compositus** to him, this is a mech who’s gonna be your One till you join the Allspark—and he’s not just going to be that! He’ll be an Amica Endura to you! From what I’ve seen of paces, that’s what a One is supposed to be.” His smile grew wider, more encouraging. “I’m glad you trust me with what’s bothering you. But don’t you think your One should hear this too?”

Brawn squeezed the two cubes more tightly in his frustration and finally he blurted out what he had deemed a reasonable excuse. “I’ll be late for work.”

“No, you won’t!” Gears exclaimed proudly, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m giving you the orn off.” Brawn began to protest that talking to Huffer wasn’t a legitimate reason to take off, but Gears cut in, “Huffer’s hands are recovering from a work-related injury and your back has just been treated with a mandatory safety upgrade. I’m giving you the orn off with pay and that’s that. So as your manager, I’m telling you to go home, rest, drink that quality energon and settle things with your One.”

Brawn remained silent where he was standing and Gears waved his hands in his face, threatening playfully, “Go on, go on, or I’ll reconsider the ‘with pay’ part of my statement!”

Once Brawn had left, Gears wandered over to the chair at the head of the table, sinking into it and folding his arms on the tabletop, determined to put in some introspection. He was feeling the satisfaction of being helpful just as usual, but with it was a twinge rooted in the center of his chest. It didn’t hurt but it was strong, persistent in catching his attention. If he thought back, it hadn’t started until Brawn and Huffer had been hired on.

They weren’t like any of the other mechs, just as he wasn’t. None of the others on the worksite had been treated by NET—or if they had, they hadn’t been rewarded like he had. His optics had been opened to the bright side of life, just as his creators had always wanted.

His creators…Whenever his thoughts of them came up, they were very abrupt but no less warm or sweet, and they fueled the unnamed twinge. The thoughts brought up questions that fought his coding and tried to alter it.

What _was_ that twinge in his chest? Was it something…greater than happiness? Or was it his happiness trying to become greater? It took him several minutes of scrolling through all the adjectives he knew, but when he finally landed on the one he wanted, he felt the twinge become a deep ache.

He wanted… _comfort_. He didn’t know why he wanted it or for what, but he wanted comfort and he wanted to understand the ability to give comfort. He would probably be pretty good at it, since pain didn’t bother him, but it was obvious it bothered others and if he wanted to be as helpful as he could, he would need the ability to relieve them. There were some bots in particular who were very good at that.

Gears was no longer paying attention to whether or not he was going to work. He leapt back to his feet and grabbed a data pad, furiously typing up what he wanted to say. Firstly he sent it to Hightop, explaining his absence, and once that was finished, he strode outside with purpose, making a beeline for the NET building.

Slinger frowned slightly when he saw Gears had returned. “You’re not back to see Venture _again_ this morning?” he questioned impatiently. “She’s busy with other patients now.”

“Oh, no, I don’t need to see her,” Gears assured him amiably, ignoring the alarms ringing somewhere beyond the waiting room. “I just need to get this note to her. If it’s not too much of a bother, I’d like it given to her tomorrow morning at the latest.”

“Very well,” Slinger agreed hastily, taking the data pad and tossing it onto a growing stack nearby. “Have a good morning.”

“Oh, I will,” Gears agreed, practically skipping on his way out—for good reason, as he could already feel the ache blending with his anticipation of where he was going tomorrow.

_My creators will be so happy to see me!_


	13. Chapter 13

There were many walks Brawn had found hard to take: the walk home from the grungy hospital, the walk home from the tavern when he was struggling to see straight, the walk home from the worksite where he had been scorned…This walk he was taking now ranked among the hardest. He clung to the energon cubes Gears had given him like they could give him energy and courage without him having taken a drop. Frankly he was surprised that they didn’t break under the strain of his fingers, but they were of quality make. Thank Primus they were; they were his only peace offering.

Somehow he’d hoped that this walk would take forever, but he’d stalled as long as was physically possible. In fact he’d taken so long on this walk that it was now late afternoon. Had he really only left this morning?

He halted outside the door, contracting his vents and holding them. On the way here, he hadn’t been able to name the feelings swirling sickeningly inside him. Now he could: they all amounted to fear. It was very, very quiet in there and he was afraid of that, as much as he hated to admit it to himself. For a minute he simply leaned his chamfron against the door, underneath the scratches, and smelled the recent coat of paint he and Huffer had applied. They’d done it together and if Gears was right, they might just do it again together.

Brawn entered his quarters much more quietly than he had left them, preemptively cringing to prepare himself for whatever state Huffer was in. It couldn’t prepare him for what he actually found: the other mech sitting on his recharge slab, exactly where he had been when they’d first started their fight, but that was the only similarity.

Shifting nervously, Brawn looked him over, finding that he seemed…small, almost nothing like the screaming character who had thrown him against the wall. Now he was bending in on himself, completely still, all of the sharp corners having gone soft.

Brawn ex-vented, opened his mouth to speak, and couldn’t find any words. How was he supposed to make amends for this? A greeting would be cruel, a mere apology insensitive.

Without warning Huffer lifted his helm and pinned him with misty, near-colorless optics, his face grave. “Should I be packing?” he questioned impassively.

The question hit right where it was meant to; it physically hurt to hear. Brawn swallowed hard and shuffled closer, his steps seeming very loud in the silence. Kneeling across from Huffer on the very edge of the slab, not daring to come much closer but still within arm’s length, he let Huffer stare at him with as much accusation as he could muster. He knew he couldn’t expect forgiveness until he’d offered restitution, and there was only one way to do that. Pursing his lips, Brawn set aside the energon cubes and dove in.

“I had five pace-mates. Blowsweep, Ignition, Hitch, Overboard…and my One was Cardsharp. ’Sharp and I were introduced to each other through a mutual friend and it wasn’t long before I offered a **compositus**.”

If anything it had been even more irreverent than his **compositus** to Huffer, Brawn recalled, visibly wincing as he realized all over again how shameful his reasons were.

“We both had ambition to be honored among the people in our sector, so we decided it would be most likely to happen if we worked together. We weren’t exactly relational; it was more a business relationship because we didn’t really understand how a pace was supposed to be. I started learning once Hitch came along. He was…a lot like you, actually. Committed, traditional…hurting.”

Huffer continued to stare at him, the ice in his gaze melting just a little. The change helped Brawn continue, picturing the faces as he mentioned them. “Hitch came about a vorn or two after Cardsharp and he made sure I knew what a good pace-leader ought to look like.” He laughed humorlessly, shaking his helm. “It was…good for business. As soon as we instated Hitch, we started getting noticed. Cardsharp suggested Blowsweep as soon as he met him—to this orn I don’t know _how_ he did—and I knew it was because Blowsweep came from an upper-class family, but he was a strong, good mech, so I agreed.

“Overboard was next. He was a bit of a zealot, into making forecasts and all that, but Obie was—slag, he was _incredibly_ observant! He said we were meant to be together and surprisingly enough he was right. Blowsweep was a lot more comfortable with Overboard around to be a watchmech; ’Sweep had always been wary of Cardsharp.” Brawn’s smile faltered and his optics fell. “For good reason. After about seven vorns Ignition was invited—he was kinda quiet but stern if he wanted to be. I liked that and Cardsharp didn’t. He was overruled by the others, but even he agreed when we decided Iggs would be the last one.”

Brawn trailed off for a minute or two, sensing his spark trying to close off his throat. With great difficulty he suppressed a shudder, but the way his vents hitched gave it away.

“Oh, Primus…okay. A few vorns passed and everything was pretty nice. Then Cardsharp started acting off. He started keeping track of the time to the _nanoklik_ , monitoring the energon—not low-grade, but mid- and high-grade weren’t to be touched without his permission—leaving without warning, that sort of thing. I planned on asking him about it, but then we got a call that Overboard’s siblings had been killed. Overboard hadn’t seen them since he joined the pace, but they were his _siblings_. You can imagine the state he was in; I had my hands full with him, so I wasn’t able to wonder much about what Cardsharp was doing. The memorial…that was when I found out.”

Huffer’s optics narrowed in puzzlement and Brawn answered his unasked question, his vocals hardening. “There was a mech at the memorial who pulled Cardsharp aside. The klik I saw him, I didn’t like him, and Cardsharp was supposed to be with us anyway. Our pace-mate had just lost his family! I practically had to _drag_ Cardsharp away from the mech and I told him in no uncertain terms that he’d better tell me what was going on or I’d sic Overboard on him. Turned out he had gotten himself involved with an Underground organization, something criminal, but he swore he was going to disconnect.

“He was alright for a while—he was at least _there_ while Obie was grieving—but then he got quiet. Cold, especially around me. I’m pretty sure I tried everything: I got our pace-mates to talk to him, his closest friends—at least the ones I thought I could trust—and that just made it worse, so I told the rest of ’em to have a night on the town while Cardsharp and I talked. Long story short, he’d broken his promise and gotten back with the gang. He said I cared more for the others, but _he_ was the one who had wanted to keep our relationship professional! He…” Brawn ex-vented slowly, shuttering his optics, leaning forward and trying not to purge. “When I turned my back…”

Huffer’s optics flickered mournfully down to the space between them and then, after a pause, back up. “He did that to you?”

“With the cannon I kept as a defense in the room. When I came to, he’d put me in stasis cuffs and was pacing. Beyond shooting me, he had no idea what to do. He kept telling me it was my fault, that I shouldn’t’ve tried to hold him back. Then…our pace-mates came back. Obviously they had no idea what was going on, but Cardsharp certainly had a story for them. He said that I had gone out of control, tried to kill him for not being _obedient_ , and he used the defense cannon to put me down. He said I was trying to Unravel the pace because they weren’t bringing me the honor I’d wanted when I started. And frag it all, they _believed_ him! Blowsweep started cursing everyone and everything and Overboard said he should’ve known it would happen and Hitch started cryin’ and Ignition didn’t say a fraggin’ word. Cardsharp told them they should all run and spread the news so I wouldn’t be a danger to anyone else. He went with them, but Blowsweep said he wanted to stay, to ‘take care’ of me.”

Vocals dropping to a whisper, he finished, “He said that he didn’t know what had really happened but he had to make it look good. And he said…”

_“If it’s true,” Blowsweep hissed, heaving him upright and positioning him with his back to the cannon, “if you did try to kill him, I don’t blame you. It may be your fault we’ve Unraveled and I hate it more than anything, but even if it is, I’m gonna make sure he is put down—because really, who could ever find honor with him as a One?”_

“And then he made it look good,” Brawn concluded, staring unblinkingly at Huffer, watching for any sign of his reaction. “He shot me again, same place, and I woke up in a tumbledown hospital which had a reputation for bad recordkeeping. Cardsharp and the others didn’t find me and never would. I moved to this sector and haven’t seen any of them since.”

After the silence stretched for about ten minutes, Huffer glanced down a second time and kept his gaze there, murmuring, “You’re not even an Unraveler, Brawn; you’re one of the Unraveled. I’ll stay.”

Brawn nodded silent gratitude and then mimicked him, lowering his optics and then wordlessly grimacing. How long into his confession had he grabbed Huffer’s right hand?

“I’m…” As soon as he started the apology, he bit it back. An apology would still be just as insensitive. He steeled himself, opening his firm grip, and revised somewhat haltingly, “I’m…your One, as you’re mine. If you hold fast to me, I’ll protect you.”

Huffer almost didn’t seem to register the words and fleetingly Brawn wondered if he would have to repeat himself. Then the other mech beamed, projecting from his EM field the first blatant joy Brawn had seen on him since they’d met, and he answered back, “When you call me, I’ll answer. I’ll be here in trouble _and_ peace.”

“I’ll rescue you—” This drew a small laugh from both of them. “—and honor you. If I need to, I’ll make a stand you can’t and hide you.”

“I’m stronger than I look,” Huffer reminded him as they paralleled their palms and fingers. “So I’ll be at your back…and if you ask, at your side.” He swallowed and hurried to add, “I’ll give you the fear that’s your due.”

“But I’ll be worthy of your trust. I won’t reject you.” Brawn marginally shifted his hand so their fingers were misaligned but consecutive. Slowly, deliberately, he folded his hand, weaving his fingers between Huffer’s, squeezed tightly and prayed, “May the favor of Primus rest on us…”

“…and establish the work of our hands for us,” Huffer finished, closing his own fingers in acceptance.

Brawn nodded, finding himself a bit overwhelmed and unable to say what he wanted to, but he was certainly thinking it.

 _And please let me get it right this time_.


	14. Chapter 14

Gears drummed his fingers eagerly on his knee, studying the other passengers onboard the airway pod. Many of them seemed grumpy or tired, making his own excitement shine out among them like a fresh orb lamp. The femme next to him noticed, looking up from her reading.

“Where are you going?” she questioned with a smile which he returned in full force.

“I’m going to visit my creators in the Solomus sector!” he exclaimed, squirming happily and glancing out the window to see how close they were to his destination.

“Hm. It’s not often you see bots who are actually happy to be going back to their creators,” the femme remarked, to which Gears turned a bit bashful and squirmed again.

“Well, I—I haven’t seen mine in seventy-four vorns.”

The femme’s eyebrows shot up and she shifted to be facing him more fully in her seat. “Did you have an argument with ’em?”

“Oh, no, I have very good relations with them! Actually I was part of a program that sent me to another sector,” Gears explained. “I just haven’t gotten the opportunity to visit them, since my friends at the NET center need to see me every orn. I’m sure they won’t mind this one trip, though!”

The interest fading from her optics, the femme echoed guardedly, “NET? You’re one of the drones?”

Gears settled back in his chair, his own eyebrows rising. “That’s not a polite thing to say and if NET hadn’t done me so many favors with my emotions, I would probably be very angry that you said it. But I’m not angry, so…what’s your destination?”

Hastily the femme turned back to her reading, mumbling something he couldn’t quite catch. Gears couldn’t find it in himself to be offended; he was far too excited. Brawn had come to him for advice and given him this idea yesterday; he had spent the rest of yesterday and this morning packing some of his things, including energon with the barium and tungsten filings, and around mid-orn he’d sent a message to his creators telling them he was coming. It had been a bit difficult to write since he hadn’t communicated with them in such a long time, but after striking out several words he considered inappropriate, he had it right.

 **_To_ ** _~~Switch and Gadget~~ _ **_ Sire and Carrier:_ **

**_Hello! It feels wonderful to be saying hello to you after so long; I haven’t heard from you in many vorns. I’m very, very pleased to tell you that I’ll be saying hello to you in person soon! I’m on my way to the Solomus sector to visit you and tell you about everything that’s happened to me. Recently my situation has_ ** _~~felt~~ _ **_ been very _ ** _~~abnormal~~ _ **_ nice, but I’ve just been _ ** _~~feeling~~ _ **_ wanting to see you. I have questions I hope will be answered and you’ve always helped me the most with questions like those._ **

**_Gears_ **

He had waited anxiously for a reply and had gotten one after several joors:

**_To Gears:_ **

**_I’ll see you at the station._ **

It had been a bit anticlimactic, but Gears couldn’t bother himself with it. He was more interested in the fact that whichever one of his creators was writing had said ‘ _I’ll_ see you’, singular, and hadn’t signed out, meaning he didn’t know which one would be meeting him. Therefore he would simply look for them both there; they were probably trying to surprise him. His sire, Switch, had always enjoyed playing little pranks on him.

Leaning his helm against the cool cybre-glass window, Gears laughed lightly as he remembered when he was a sparkling who had just come out of recharge and heard his sire calling for him quite insistently. He’d done his best to obey, groaning and simply wishing he could go back to his berth—only to nearly jump out of his plating when he had opened his door and set off a miniature party braam affixed to it. Needless to say, Gears had come fully online fast and Switch had apologized through laughter for startling him with the noise.

“Don’t do it ever again! You say sires shouldn’t exasperate their sparklings!” Gears had pouted, causing Switch to laugh some more and pull him close.

“Aw, Gears. Sooner or later you may find this funny.”

He did indeed, Gears realized warmly as the airway pod slowed to a halt in the Solomus port. He leapt to his feet, squeezing past the femme who had talked with him and wishing her a quick good afternoon before grabbing his things and fairly diving off of the pod into the crowds milling around, waiting for their pods.

It was wondrous to be here again, Gears decided, staring at his surroundings in awe. Unlike the rest of Culumex, many of the residents in Solomus had decided they liked things the way they were, so this sector remained mostly unchanged. The gleaming pillars rising above the streets were the same, the businesses competing for weary travelers were still there, and the overall feel of everything was just as warm and gentle as Gears remembered, but still abuzz with activity.

 _Creators_ , he reminded himself. _You can reminisce with them!_

Gadget was painted blue and orange and Switch was bronze and silver—at least that was what they had been when Gears had left them. He didn’t recognize any of the passersby, so perhaps they had changed their colors sometime during his absence.

“Gears?”

He heard his name being called from somewhere behind him, so he whirled around and his optics lit up. “Blockaide!” he burst out joyfully, dropping his possessions and tackling his family friend. The larger, older mech’s arms essentially swallowed him as he returned the hug and Gears laughed, pedaling his feet through air to inform Blockaide he was finding it difficult to vent.

“What’re you doing here?” Gears asked excitedly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other once his old friend released him.

“I wanted to come and escort you to the house,” Blockaide explained, his face taking on the challenge of a delicate smile. He had always found it hard to smile but easy to laugh, Gears recalled, beaming approvingly in answer.

“I feel classy now that I’ve got a bodyguard!” he proclaimed as he reclaimed his baggage from the floor and walked with Blockaide through the crowd. “I have nice quarters back in the Alchemist sector, quality energon, funny friends—and now an escort to top it off!”

Blockaide chuckled at what he was saying, but it was nothing like his natural booming laugh that Gears had loved when he was little. This mech had been a second sire to him, so he decided to tell him everything he was going to tell Switch when he saw him. He chattered about his home away from here and his neighbors, about all the things he had directed to be built in his job as a manager, about his employees and how hard they worked…

Just as they were reaching his creators’ quarters, when he was getting up his courage to speak of how much he liked Venture, Blockaide interrupted. “Gears, I have some news,” he stated abruptly, causing Gears to grab his arm and begin pulling him up the stairs leading to the door of his old quarters.

“C’mon, you can tell me inside. I really want to see them!”

“Gears,” Blockaide repeated, pulling his arm back with enough force to bring Gears down a step with it. “I have to tell you something…about Switch and Gadget. They—” Blockaide’s entire frame drooped without warning, causing Gears to perceive that he was very old now and he was starting to look it.

“Can they tell me their own news?” Gears questioned hopefully. Blockaide tore his optics away, his EM field radiating deep sorrow—for what, Gears didn’t know.

“No, they can’t. Gears…do you remember the Tangle of Sectors?”

“Oh, yes, it happened about eleven diuns ago,” Gears confirmed. “A large airway crash involving a pod from Alchemist, a pod from Nexus, and a pod from Solomus. It was on the news!”

“Yes, that one,” Blockaide murmured, squeezing his shoulder gently. “But…do you remember how…many bots died in that crash? Your—your creators…”

For a long, vacant minute, Gears remained motionless, letting Blockaide’s inference sink in. Then he trembled, gripping the stair rail for support and trying to catch ahold of his vents. The ache in his chest was twisting tighter and tighter and reaching out to close his throat and burn his optics. He choked out an incredulous laugh, squeezed the railing tighter until it screeched and remained bent, and looked back up at Blockaide with a precarious grin.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Blockaide swallowed hard and lifted a hand to gesture vaguely at his face with a despairing whisper: “Because I didn’t want to see you smiling.”

Even through those words, Gears continued to smile. His coding was working in full force now, joy hammering through his veins and assaulting the sweet ache, numbing it for his attention. He let it do so, unsure of what else to do, and made his way into the home with the code that Gadget had promised she wouldn’t change.

Everything was still there, just like the rest of Solomus. The holopics of their family were mounted on the walls, some with Blockaide in them as well. Gears took one of the projectors down and studied the picture as it floated in front of his optics, laughing again with a mix of tenderness and pain. The pain was numbed internally; Gears couldn’t feel it, but he could hear it in his own vocals. If his vocalizer could eject this pain by putting it in his vocals, his coding wanted it to.

“This was taken when I first got my augmentation,” Gears proclaimed sweetly, glancing at Blockaide, who stood forlornly by the door. “The thrusters in my feet. I wanted to perform for my carrier and sire and I put too much power into them. I—I went right through the new skylight my sire was installing and m-my thrusters blew all of the cybre-glass into the house! I was afraid Switch would be angry and…he wasn’t. He told me I had just gotten him back f-for all of the pranks he played on me when I was little. He started laughing and I started laughing and my carrier took the holopic right then.” Hesitantly he shuffled toward him, hugging the projector to his chest, and asked, “What will happen to all of this? Their things…will they be thrown away?”

“We told the quartersmech that we were waiting to deal with it all until we informed the next-of-kin,” Blockaide told him softly. “So what would you like to do with this?”

Gears didn’t answer right away, tiptoeing through the room as though he were afraid to touch anything, excitement trying to compensate for the lack of his creators. Eventually he focused his attention on a stack of thirty or forty data pads in the corner. He subspaced the projector and knelt, picking up the first one and reading what had been typed over the header:

**_RETURN TO SENDER._ **

He blinked at that several times, deciding his blurry optics needed recalibrating, and then read the legitimate header.

**_To Gears, my sweet creation:_ **

He read no more, snatching up another and finding the same. Rising to his feet and twirling around, he exclaimed shakily, “N-No wonder they were all sent back. My carrier had the NET center’s address, not mine!”

With Blockaide’s help, he gathered up all of the letters and put them in subspace. Despite how happy he felt to be here, Gears decided he didn’t have much of a reason to stay. His creators were in the Allspark and couldn’t help him, but he was…glad…perhaps, that they had found eternal peace. Blockaide hugged him and wished him well and Gears mimicked him, eager to be on his way.

Dusk was falling again, Gears noticed as the pod rumbled along with him as its only passenger. He liked dusk. It was…nice. But his attention was drawn away from it when they came to a stop in the Alchemist sector. He would feel even better when he was back in his…home. His home here. He stumbled as he rose from his seat, narrowly catching himself.

The driver saw the jerky motion in his rearview, twisting around in his seat to call in concern, “Are you alright?”

Gears lifted his helm, his mildly-foggy vision discerning that this was Gauge, the larger-frame driver he had befriended on his outing with Brawn and Huffer. He smiled widely in greeting, his voice a croak when he answered.

“No, I’m not, and I’m very pleased you asked. My creators have died.”

Gauge stood and approached, taking him by the shoulders and helping him steady his feet. “I’m so sorry.” The younger mech hesitated, peeking at his credits can, and then offered, “Can I buy you a drink?”

The idea of letting someone treat _him_ to a drink was foreign, almost unheard of by Gears. He blinked several times, very hard, and then jerked a nod.

“Very much obliged.”


	15. Chapter 15

“You’re doing very well, Landslide. Just hold still and let the coding do its work. It won’t be long and you’re going to forget your troubles completely, I assure you.”

Venture dutifully held the weeping patient down as Residue soothed her, trying to remind her that she had chosen this path willingly. Landslide may forget her troubles, but who knew if it would be through happiness or through death? Venture didn’t tend to ask these questions; after a few more kliks, this femme wouldn’t be a patient. She would be Project: Landslide and that would be a better fate for her than she might have had in store.

If Venture was recalling correctly, Landslide had come here by accident, hiding from a mech who haunted her existence. She had taken one look at the waiting room and asked Slinger pointblank if they could give her a new identity.

This was her solution.

Venture soon removed the command line inducer, which had interpreted the coding into their newest Project. As it left her, Landslide perked up, blinking away her tears. There was a certain _look_ to her now and Venture just…knew.

“Part of the Vigil, sir?” she asked in low tones.

“Yes, I should think so,” Residue agreed, taking a step back with hands lifted passively as Landslide stared around the room with hypervigilant optics.

At a nod from the head scientist, Venture interceded for her coworkers, moving cautiously toward Landslide, smiling gently. “Landslide…do you remember me?” This phase could sometimes bring on a bit of amnesia as their processor adjusted to the new program, so she wanted the Project to answer in her own time.

“You’re the assistant,” Landslide countered, pressing further onto the medical berth in some vain attempt to move away. “The one who held me down.”

It wasn’t too surprising for a Vigil to remember almost immediately. “Yes, I am,” Venture confirmed, holding out a hand in greeting. “My name is Venture. I’m the assistant to Residue, your chief carer. We’re going to help you adjust to your new, safe life.” She had given this promise to countless bots, countless faces, and each time it formed a bit of a bond with them in her spark and hopefully vice versa.

“Are you sure he won’t find me here? The stalker?” Landslide demanded in a harsh whisper, snatching up the outstretched hand. Venture’s smile widened and she nodded comfortingly.

“Of course he won’t. We’ll be relocating you to the NET houses. Your neighbors will all be part of our program too! You can trust them; the area is well-lit and there are a lot of mechs and femmes who are like you. They may even let you join their neighborhood watch; they like to feel safe too. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Venture felt a surge of protectiveness as Landslide hesitated, but before she could go about further convincing the other femme to trust them, Residue stepped in. “I’m your chief carer,” he stated calmly and surely. “If you have any questions, you may ask me now. Venture…I think it would be comforting to Landslide here if Slinger were present.”

It probably would be the exact opposite of comforting, but nonetheless Venture straightened, saluted, and strode out, fleetingly massaging the hand Landslide had held. She hoped against hope that the femme wouldn’t have any questions. If she did, they would need to repeat the recoding process on a deeper level, with probes which corroded specific areas of the spark to dull the emotions there.

“Slinger,” Venture reported, leaning her arms on top of the counter at the front desk. “We have a Vigil who needs your assistance.”

The clerk’s optics flickered to her, near-perfectly reminiscent of Landslide’s. Venture’s spark stirred for him, as it did for many of her coworkers and employers. Some of the bots she worked with were not exempt from the testing themselves. Slinger was one of the earliest Vigils and from what she had heard, it had taken him seventeen vorns to fully adjust to his new way of functioning. It wasn’t any wonder either; his reprogramming had made him wary, always ready to betray if he mistrusted you. It went against everything Venture stood for, but even so she was devoted to his wellbeing just as much as the others.

Presently the mech seemed resigned to helping a member of his coding branch, but he rose to go anyway. “Ah, one of the Projects left a data pad for you.” So saying, he slid one out of the growing stack to his left and handed it to her before taking his leave.

Venture often received notes from her Projects and she took the time to read every one. Many of them tried to convince her that she had done the right thing, if they were from a Trustee or a Depressant, though if it was from the latter it was usually them trying to convince themselves and thereby resist their depressive coding.

Just as many of them had tangible rage behind the pad screen, undoubtedly sent by a Berserker. Usually Airlock was the source of such a letter and Venture would dutifully file the note in her personal storage as best she could, depending on how intact the data pad had remained in transit.

In this case, she could tell just by the greeting that it was from a Thriller. She liked those in particular because at least she could believe they had benefited from it somehow. This, however, was not the usual sort of letter she received from any coding branch, much less this one.

**_To Venture:_ **

**_This is so fun; I don’t think I’ve ever written a note to you before, since I see you every orn! You may be getting this notification a little late, but don’t worry! I’m just fine—excellent, in fact! I’m going on a little trip, just like my friend Catapult. Because you all want me to be happy, I know you’ll understand. It will make me very, very happy to see my creators! I’ll probably be back after a few orns. I’ll miss you!_ **

**_Gears_ **

Venture stared blankly at the signature and then pressed the data pad against her chest, shuttering her optics.

_Oh, Gears…if only you could have left it alone!_

She could feel her coding prickling through her, demanding she take action, but behind it her spark ached with confliction. This had been the way since they had first tested her, beginning an entirely new branch: the Loyalists.

Back then, creators had been allowed to oversee the Projects and hers had tried their hardest to convince her to come back with them. She’d wanted to, of course, since she was…loyal…to them. She didn’t feel the love she’d always had for them, but she was loyal. Residue had intervened promptly when he’d noticed that.

_“I’ve just changed her life,” he stated. “She has a duty to do that for others, does she not?”_

_Her sire glared, trying to stare down the other mech, who gazed easily, icily back. Her carrier, meanwhile, was coaxing her closer._

_“It’s alright, sweetspark, you can come here,” she urged in a whisper. “You need to recover from your surgery and you can do that best at home.”_

_Venture hesitated, reaching for the hands which had held her since she first sparked and then glancing back at Residue, almost for permission. He smiled at her, addressing her directly._

_“I cannot stop you if you want to go.” Despite his words, she had a feeling he could if he wanted. “But I assure you, you would recover much more thoroughly in our care. Also, don’t you feel any loyalty to your fellow patients? They would love to know you better, become your friends.”_

_“Would they play with me?” she questioned tentatively. That was one thing her creators rarely had time for, since they both had fulltime jobs to make up for their finances, much of which had just been spent here. She may be young, but she was sharp and she knew how costly this had been, but they had done it for her sake._

_Residue knelt, looking her straight in the optics. “Yes. And you can be my assistant,” he promised. “You can help me choose the games we play. How does that sound?”_

_She considered, studying her feet, and then looked up. “Sire, Carrier…you started this for me. You tell me I should finish things before I put them away, right?” So saying, she backed away from them until she bumped Residue’s leg and latched onto the hand he stretched out to her._

_In some capacity, it felt like the right place to be, like she had a purpose for being there, until Residue squeezed her hand even more tightly and gestured for her creators to be shown out. Once they were out of sight, she knew without a doubt that she belonged here._

Residue had raised her on this. Even now, Venture could feel the familiar sense of devotion to her father-figure and employer, far outweighing the tingle of duty she felt toward her past family. It was in a large part why they advised against visiting creators; it would simply upset the delicate balance of the Projects’ new programming. Each time her sire had tried to come back and retrieve her, it had upset her, made her hesitate, and Residue would need to remind her why she was here: to help the Projects have better lives.

Sometimes, depending on the circumstance, a better life would be letting them go with all of their emotions intact. Venture had been told from the start that she should be loyal to NET, obviously, and also to the people they helped.

Her first glitch, if it could technically be called that, had been a decavorn ago. She’d experienced it during the trial phase of a mech named Twincharge. His coding had been precarious from the start and through much of his pain and suffering they had learned that his name was accurate: his spark had never fully broken, but had things gone differently he would have been a split-spark twin. Over and over again his spark rejected the code; when one half of his spark was made neutral, the other half compensated and charged it again. It was clear there would be no reprogramming for him, so the other scientists urged Residue to dismiss him.

Venture was loyal to the program, despite all of its evils, so she had obediently led Twincharge away from the center toward a smelting pool. She was meant to push him in, of course, but she was also loyal to her patients. She’d ‘glitched’ as soon as he’d realized her intent and had asked her a question she never forgot:

“Why are you killing me?!”

“Because it’s what I’ve been asked to do.”

He’d shivered and through her grip on his arm she had felt it. He’d turned his back to the pool so he could fully face her.

“I thought you said you were asked to give me a better life. I can…I can have that, even if it’s not with NET, right?”

It had made sense. As far as she could tell back then, it hadn’t gone outside of their mission to help other Culumexians, so she’d released him. Only a few diuns after he’d disappeared, she was contacted. Twincharge had gotten in with an Underground affiliation who was selling spare parts which could perform something like a system reset, to revert the coding to its original form.

“It’s for those who can’t accept the programming,” Twincharge had explained. “I can’t stop this all on my own—” And Venture had privately wondered why he would want to. “—but I have a duty to do what I can.”

Duty was something she could understand. So far she’d directed three bots to the Underground for better help when NET failed. There were some cases she hadn’t recognized until it was too late and some who had been killed before she could help.

Poor Catapult…

Now here was Gears, resisting his coding, wandering off as soon as he decided to visit his creators. It was a blatant betrayal to the NET.

How would she react if he were to walk in right now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize to my readers for the wait! Since I had no basis for Venture as I do the canon characters, this chapter was harder to write, but I intend to get back to the story. ;) Please comment and tell me what you think of the update! Things are getting interesting now...


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter could easily be titled "Guilty Pleasures". ^v^

For the first time that Huffer could remember, he found himself unable to stop humming. Usually he found the sound quite annoying when it came from others, but he saw the appeal right now. He was content; more than that, he was excited.

He was Brawn’s One—officially, indisputably, and _mutually_. Brawn had instigated, reached out to him. He’d also given him a lot to think over by telling him what had happened with his past pace and in a way, perhaps he had a lot to be _angry_ about for the sake of his wounded leader. But right now, their wounds didn’t matter. They had finalized the bond and that was cause for celebration.

It took quite a bit of willpower, but his systems managed to crawl out of recharge before Brawn’s did. Flexing his hand, imagining a phantom tingle between his fingers, he beamed, impulsively squeezing his friend’s shoulder in gratitude and affection. He readjusted Brawn’s thermal tarp slightly so he’d stay warm and continued humming as he rose, keeping his steps soft even though he wanted nothing more than to race out the door.

For once he could understand the incessant happiness Gears felt, Huffer realized as he hurried toward the street market, which was just restocking everything from last night. Brawn had given him a celebratory dinner the first night he’d arrived. It had meant a lot to him and he felt he needed to return the favor for their first breakfast as something more than roommates.

 _No Garbage O’s for this party_ , he mused, laughing lightly as he perused the food area, stopping up short in front of a…

“What in the Pit is that?” he gasped, leaning over the counter to stare at the large item.

The red mech working the counter smirked, amused at his wide optics and mouth. “ _That_ is a CROSS dish.” At the blank look he received, the mech went on to explain, counting on his fingers. “Cryofrozen rust sticks, layered with strontium sausage, some more rust sticks on top of that, drizzled with oil. Comes from the Solus sector, I think.”

“Blast,” Huffer cursed softly, more out of awe than frustration. “He’d love that.” It would certainly feed the both of them and they had just been paid. It would be a not-so-guilty pleasure.

With that tucked under his arm, he started to study the energon selection but received an abrupt tap on the shoulder.

“I see you’re celebrating something!” Gears exclaimed with a gesture at the dish. “I’ve only had that once or twice and let me tell you, it’s…” His hesitation was for a solid nanoklik. “… _wonderful_. It melts in your internals!”

For the first time since Huffer had met him, he might just be in the right mood for a friendly conversation with their manager, he realized with a genuine smile. “With the cryofrozen rust sticks, I don’t doubt it! I’m going to surprise Brawn with it.”

Gears nodded approvingly, going on to say something about the grade of oil, but Huffer wasn’t quite paying attention to that. Was it his imagination or were Gears’ optics filmy? Huffer recognized this particular mist too; he’d seen it in himself many times under Remix’s rule, when he wanted to cry, to release his feelings, but couldn’t force himself.

“What are you doing here?” Huffer questioned, hoping he didn’t sound as wary to Gears as he did in his processor.

Gears shrugged, his smile widening as he blinked until the haze disappeared. “Actually I was looking for you and Brawn! I wanted to talk to you about your credits, but I wouldn’t want to be a bother if you’re celebrating something important.”

Huffer’s good mood waned just a faction, but if it was about money he had a feeling he ought to listen. “We can talk on the way back, okay?”

“Thanks for making time!” After Huffer had bought some low-grade engex, Gears bounded after him, getting right to the point. “You see, Huffer, I need to make some money.”

Huffer glanced at him sharply in astonishment. Was he joking? He lived in the Alchemist sector, where all of his needs were taken care of. Cautiously the engineer schooled his expression back to a neutral pose. “What for?”

With Gears, subtlety was glaringly obvious as he skipped that question and continued as though he hadn’t heard. “And if it isn’t too nosy, I’d like to know how you and Brawn made do before I employed you!”

This really wasn’t what he wanted to be thinking about, but he had already conceded, so Huffer thought back and tried to answer as vaguely as possible while still being helpful. “Well, um, when I was being…before I was with Brawn, I didn’t have a lot, so I sold a lot of my things to buy energon instead. But you,” he insisted, “have plenty of energon.”

Gears nodded and Huffer was a bit startled when he felt the other mech’s EM field flicker where it intersected with his. What was he reading? It was some kind of want, perhaps for whatever he might be trying to buy. “Yes, I do have that. It’s supplied to me every quintun; my friends at the science center always t-take care of me.”

Had he just _stuttered_ , as though out of doubt? This was very strange, but Huffer had to take it in stride; it wouldn’t do to get stressed and confused right before a party. “Well, you could sell your energon,” he suggested as his home came into view. The light was on inside, which meant Brawn had woken and was likely looking for him. He sped up his pace just a little; he didn’t want his leader to worry at the absence, as he had when Brawn was off getting his upgrade.

Gears laughed at the idea and then hesitated, seeming curious. “Why would anyone want my energon?”

He had to be clueless about the luxury he lived in, Huffer decided, throwing up his free hand. “Gears, it’s rare! Other sectors don’t have the stock of energon you have; most don’t even have the hutch where you keep your energon! I don’t think even Solus has your grade very often!” As Gears pondered this, Huffer lived up to his name, sighing lightly. “Brawn and I can help you sell it _after_ our party. We’ve just done the Ritus, Gears, and—”

“By the Primes!” Gears gasped, lunging and squeezing him tightly enough to make him halt and wince. “Here I’ve been droning about credits and you—you’re a true One now! Why didn’t you tell me? Congratulations! That’s _wonderful_ for you and I—I wish you the very best.”

 _He may be happy, but even happy Gears doesn’t usually talk like this. It’s like he’s trying too hard_ , Huffer thought fleetingly as Gears released him enough to finish the walk but kept an arm around his shoulders.

Huffer was surprised to find the front room empty, which meant Brawn was likely working on the spare room by the washroom again. His friend had sternly barred him from entering that room until it was finished, which meant he was probably turning it into a training area or something of the like.

“Brawn, I just went shopping!” he called, hearing the expected clatter from that area as Brawn exited, moved the unattached door into its place, and came out to meet him. The pace-leader— _his_ pace-leader—smiled warmly and opened his mouth to greet him, but Gears sprang before he could speak, throwing his arms around him. Brawn stiffened, mouthing a question at Huffer from over Gears’ shoulder, and Huffer shook his helm unknowingly. Whatever had brought on this extreme amount of energy, Gears seemed intent on spending it on them.

“I hear you’re official now!” Gears cried, dancing around the room and then spreading out his arms. “And I love your place! I’ve never been in here before; it’s very nice. It could use a decorative touch, maybe holopics on the walls, or—or colors! What do you think of blue or bronze or silver? I’ve always loved those; they’re my cre—they _were_ my creators’ colors. Oh!” He seemed to discern that he was rambling just in time to stop and turn to face them, smiling a bit fixedly. “You’re not decorated…?”

Huffer and Brawn glanced at each other apprehensively, pointedly not letting their optics move over each other’s armor. Since they’d known each other, neither had mentioned the scuffs, scratches, or fades that they noticed, but unfortunately it managed to be true even if it was unsaid. Huffer had been saving for something like this food; he hadn’t even taken into account the cost of the filigree traditionally applied after the Ritus.

Since he was now self-conscious, Huffer easily did the calculations and grasped that he hadn’t even had a buffing since he’d sold his favorite buffer three vorns ago, and while they had been making great progress on their home, Brawn hadn’t yet started on his own maintenance. The upgrade had probably been the healthiest thing to happen to him since the Unraveling.

After a long minute or two of Gears waiting for an explanation, Brawn answered half-sparkedly, “We’re not exactly like other paces…We don’t need it.”

“Nonsense!” Gears shot back almost smugly, like he had been expecting that from miles off. “You may not need it, but you know you _want_ it! It’s a tradition and from what I’ve seen, you’re all about tradition, both of you. That can be my Ritus gift for you: two coats of paint and a filigree job each!”

“Gears!” Huffer gasped in unison with Brawn. “You can’t do that! The whole reason you wanted to come with me is so we could talk about money, right?!”

Giggling, Gears clasped his hands behind his back, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. “But this’ll help with that too!” he proclaimed. “Think about it: fresh paint, polished chrome, filigree for your hands…You’ll be my businessmechs and you’ll be looking as sharp as you can come!”

Huffer glanced at Brawn again almost pleadingly. Their manager had already done a lot for them, surely they couldn’t just let him…From the look on Brawn’s face, however, he was doing what Gears had said and thinking about it. He was already liking this concept and it hadn’t taken Huffer long to realize that when Brawn set his mind on something for the benefit of one or both of them, it was probably going to happen. He might as well accept and enjoy it now.

 _Well…sometimes a mech has to spend money to make it_ , he decided thoughtfully as Brawn predictably started grinning. _And maybe a little orange would look good with my purple_.


	17. Chapter 17

“Gears,” Venture greeted cautiously as he was escorted into his usual room. “How are you today?”

Gears smiled warmly, hopping onto the medical berth with just as much vigor as always. “I’m quite well today, thank you.” He felt his coding tingle, as though affirming his words, and watched the escort leave. Once the door closed, he leaned in conspiratorially and added, “I quite enjoyed the visit to my home sector! Did you get my note?”

“Yes, I did,” Venture assured him, seeming surprisingly calm about that for how often she and Residue urged him to stay in this sector. Still, she seemed to realize it wasn’t like they could have actually stopped him. “How were your creators?”

Gears didn’t answer right away, delight and possibly something else making his entire frame shiver. “They were…p-peaceful.” He was aware he’d stumbled over the word, but it didn’t bother him. Venture looked up from her scanner at these words, eyebrows lifting.

“Peaceful?” she echoed, her vocals warier. “Are they in a care home or other facility?”

“Oh, no,” Gears brushed the idea away, chuckling. “A care home would never survive my sire! He would play so many pranks on the attendants, they would send him back to our old house! But…um, no. They’re with the Allspark actually.” At Venture’s expression of alarm, Gears held up a hand. “I’m just—just fine with that. From what I heard, it was quick and probably painless—”

But what if it hadn’t been? Had they _suffered_ their pain in their last kliks? If he were to feel pain, he wouldn’t mind; he would still be happy, but his creators might have been in too much distress to survive that pain. What if they had just given up life because of their pain? It was near incomprehensible. What could be so horribly tantalizing about pain that made people weaken and give into it?

Before Gears could wonder about that much more, Venture’s scanner let out a high-pitched trill. From what he saw reflected in her optics, the screen on the scanner was flashing a pale bluish color. That had never happened before, so naturally Gears hoped it meant something good.

“How am I?” he piped up, recapturing her attention. She looked…grave, but he didn’t worry. Whatever it was, she would sort it out and he would be optimal, just as always. If she couldn’t figure out his systems, Residue could be called.

“Well…” Venture set aside the scanner in order to fold her hands in front of her. “Your systems aren’t doing very well, Gears. Rather, your coding isn’t.”

Gears blinked a few times. “I feel fine,” he claimed, hoping this would reassure her. It didn’t seem to, so he continued comfortingly, “Maybe my coding needs to be adjusted. We just need to bring it to someone’s attention, right? You always take care of me.”

Why was he volunteering to be adjusted? He was content—happy—as he was, but if it made Venture happier to see him go through arrangements so by NET’s standards he would be considered ‘fixed’, he was pleased to obey.

Venture abruptly straightened, snatching up his chart and making several notes. “Gears,” she began composedly, “I’m fairly sure attention is the last thing you need.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Gears didn’t feel sorry, but it was something polite to say since he really didn’t understand what she meant.

Her typing quickened in speed. “I know exactly how to make you better.”

Perking up, Gears beamed brightly at her. “Wonderful!” His spark had quickened with her typing, though what it was trying to say wasn’t clear.

“Here. Take a look at your chart,” she urged, handing it over for him to scan. He had never been treated to this before, so he took it eagerly, puzzled to find she had typed over his stats.

**_Cameras are watching. Ask if we can go outside._ **

Now that she mentioned it, he _did_ want to go out. Venture of course acquiesced when he requested the fresh air and they strode out of the building together, her hand tighter on his arm than any escort’s.

“Where are we going?” he questioned.

“Just for a walk around the building,” Venture answered vaguely. Once they were out of the view of the front doors, she continued in a pedal tone. “I have a friend who I trust with some of my…special patients.”

Gears always liked to hear he was special, so he paid more attention. “Is this friend with NET?”

“No, he’s not. He used to be a patient.”

That idea seemed foreign. As far as Gears knew, once a bot was a patient of NET, they were for the rest of their functioning. How had this friend of hers changed that?

“But in order for him to fix you,” Venture explained softly, “you’ll need something like an upgrade. And it has to be a secret from everyone: your neighbors, Residue…you wouldn’t mind keeping that secret, would you? My friend doesn’t like to be…um, shown off. I stick to that; I’m loyal to him.”

Gears was a friendly mech, so he didn’t quite understand that, but he accepted it. It also was unclear why she was referring to NET as though it were a separate entity rather than _her_ job. Venture went on to explain that the upgrade was very expensive because the special parts were built outside the normal factories.

“I wouldn’t be able to pay for what you need without spilling my friend’s secret to NET,” Venture confessed. “You would need to find money.”

When she told him the amount, Gears protested, “But I trust you and NET. Can they not fix me?”

Venture’s hold on him grew even tighter. “No, I’m afraid they can’t fix you as you should be fixed. Some bots need to be made happy through other ways.”

Gears considered Brawn and Huffer, having never gone through NET but still mostly happy in their life together. Interestingly enough, it was proving Venture’s words true, not that he had doubted her.

“Okay,” he agreed at last. “I’ll find a way to make the money.”

Venture halted them, turning to face him more fully and pressing, “You’re sure you want to do this?” She hesitated, optics flickering down and then back up to his. “You realize this is going to change a lot. If you let my friend outside of NET treat you, you won’t…be a NET patient anymore. You won’t have us to check on you; you’ll be completely independent.”

Gears wavered a little at that. He was sure he would be content in any life, but he did want to keep seeing her somehow. “Will you try to visit me?” he questioned hopefully.

“Yes,” Venture promised, briefly tapping their chamfrons together. “I’ll try my hardest to visit and I’ll be with you through every step of the process, but remember, we need to keep this secret from NET.”

“Won’t they wonder where I’ve gone? I don’t want to upset them,” he admitted.

Venture shook her helm. “No, Gears, I’ll tell them you’re gone. I’ll make sure they know you took care of yourself, I just won’t tell them about my friend _helping_ you. Okay?”

That conversation and the one that took place afterward, where he had intercepted Huffer in the marketplace, had been two diuns ago. Gears had been pleased so far with their work, not just in selling his energon but on the construction site. They still had work to be done and he was still happy to do it! The second NET center was coming along very nicely; they had finagled a way to add the second wing and Gears was pleased that there would be other patients who could get help. He hoped there would be someone like Venture in the second wing, someone who could help the special ones destined for something else.

The harassment of Brawn and Huffer had eased as well, which also helped along the construction of the building by dealing with the cohesiveness of the team. Gears was quite proud to say that unbeknownst to most of his employees, he had been part of the solution to that problem. When the pair had come into the workplace with filigree entwining their hands, the others had been too astounded by the sight to even be angry. That had improved Brawn and Huffer’s moods even more and Gears loved the brightness of their demeanors. It wasn’t just the new paint that did it; they were happy, like he was…maybe even happier.

If this friend of Venture could fix him to be just as happy, almost everything would be perfect. He continued seeing Venture each orn, asking if the parts to fix him had arrived as Venture corrected his scans with his usual, proper numbers. Each orn she said no, but he was getting more and more excited about it, until he simply couldn’t recharge, not even for a minute. He was happy he couldn’t recharge; he had enjoyed endless, shadowy dreams about his creators a bit _less_ than he enjoyed thinking about the parts coming for him.

Over these past two diuns, he had also started increasing the amount of energon he sent to Brawn and Huffer. He gave them plenty to sell to the highest bidder, of course, but when there was some left over, he simply told them to keep it. He had this sweet feeling inside that they might need it, but for what, he didn’t know yet. That exhilarated him all the more.

He also enjoyed sharing with his neighbors. Just yesterday, for a minute or two, he had managed to coax Typhoon out from behind his door in order to give him several cans of low-octane juice, which could have calming effects. Typhoon thanked him and raced back into his home, no doubt to check the liquid for unrecognized additives. Gears simply smiled fondly and went to his next stop, placing his own lawn chair in front of Airlock’s house with a data pad fixed to the seat.

 ** _When you need to break something_** **,** the data pad read, **_please break your own chair and use this one afterward. That way you’ll always have a chair where you can sit!_**

Later he had dinner with Salvo and her pace. He laughed at Ace’s jokes and poked fun at Gleamray’s solemn demeanor. Why he felt driven to do all of these things, he didn’t know, but they simply made the sweet ache in his chest grow further, thrilling him.

Finally, when he was sure his excitement might just strangle him—not that he would mind—Venture told him her friend, Twincharge, was ready to make the exchange.

“Gather your credits, Gears,” she urged softly, almost unheard under the urgent trilling of her scanner, which was upset with his numbers yet again. “It’s tonight, before the generators come on by the unused landing platforms.”

So here was Gears, standing confidently in the rust on the ground by the platforms. He beamed widely at the mech in front of him, who was carefully checking the credits he had handed him.

“Everything’s there,” Gears told him helpfully, to which Twincharge nodded and continued counting.

When he was finally finished, he straightened, withdrawing a small case with utmost care, as though it were made of cybre-glass. Gears’ optics went round as Twincharge opened the case for him, revealing a flat, simple circuit card.

“Is that what will fix me?” he asked breathlessly.

Twincharge nodded. “Yeah, it is, but don’t put it in until I’m gone, alright?” he pleaded.

Gears giggled and took the card, nodding. “I know, I know. You don’t like to show off, but I’m very much obliged to you!” he returned gratefully.

“Your systems will take a nanoklik or two to calibrate,” Twincharge told him solemnly as he backed away into the darkness, until all that could be seen was his outline. “And after that…it’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced.”

“I’m sure I’ll be pleased with it,” Gears called, waving until even the other mech’s outline disappeared. He vented the fresh air, not minding that it smelled of the rust in the area, and then studying the card intently.

He trusted Venture and her friend to take care of him. This would make his systems as they should be and he was indeed sure he’d be happy with it. He shuttered his optics briefly, softly smiling, absorbing the sensation of this minute all to himself, and then deftly opened his chest armor and maneuvered the card into his systems.

Gears’ smile froze. Struggling against its lifelong position, his mouth first turned down, testing its lack of flexibility. Gradually he was aware that his faceplates were tentative, aching as they shifted to accommodate a frown. He didn’t like the sensation of that ache and just as he realized he was feeling something other than happiness, he remembered why he was here: to be fixed. Now he knew _why_.

He was alone when he’d come and alone when he fell, his knees protesting with sharp sensations as he let them take all of his weight. He paid it attention but didn’t give into it; it blended into the multiple aches as his upper body caught up with his lower, landing heavily on the ground. He hadn’t bothered to stop his fall because that would have prevented him pain. On the contrary, he _wanted_ to feel it and _hate_ feeling it. His vents hitched from the rust stirred by the movement and he coughed, curling in around himself and his broken spark, which had become whole just in time to experience the fact that it wasn’t and never would be again.

His coughing blended into the countless sobs that followed. When his optics ran out of lubricant, he howled and when his vocals gave out, he slammed his fists against the ground until it felt like they might shatter. Once his optics had synthesized more lubricant, more tears would spill, blinding him. The cycle was endless and he couldn’t stop even if he had wanted to, which he didn’t. All he wanted was his family.

Finally someone else’s hands, foreign in the fact that they weren’t dripping energon, grabbed him and crushed him further into the arms they belonged to. Gears drew his vents into a shuddery gasp and clung to whatever handhold he could find on the mech’s armor, but his fingertips stung and kept slipping because of the blood. Just like with everything else important, he had to let go. It sent his vocals into a shrill keening wail and the one who embraced him didn’t even flinch.

Every time Gears thought he was ready to set aside the rest of his grief for later, he wasn’t. Eventually he was shifted to a more comfortable position, despite the fact that he didn’t _want_ to be comfortable. His frame betrayed him, easily sinking into the devised cradle the stranger had made for him from his arms. Just as stasis was forcing itself on him, he spoke his first words as a truly caring mech:

“Everything hurts…”


	18. Chapter 18

“How are you feeling?” Brawn asked lowly, holding Huffer’s arm as they prepared to head to the worksite. “Still dizzy?”

“No, just a bit of a helm-ache,” Huffer murmured, glancing at the recharge slab which had been slid into the corner. “Brawn…will he—?”

“He’ll be okay,” Brawn interrupted, with no basis whatsoever for that statement. He wasn’t sure how he had so little doubt about it; perhaps it was because he refused to accept any other alternative.

Three nights ago he had found Gears in the middle of nowhere having a complete system overhaul, convulsing on the ground and screaming at a pitch that turned Brawn’s spark over in his chest. As soon as his manager and—yes, his _friend_ had stilled as much as he seemed able, Brawn had swooped in, scooping him up just as he slipped from consciousness.

He hadn’t stirred since. With the way he was so utterly and completely still, he appeared more peaceful than Brawn had _ever_ seen him. In his waking moments, he was all over the place and it was the only way they knew him to be. But now…nothing. It was unnerving.

Brawn and Huffer had been doing their best to take care of him in the meantime. Brawn had given up his recharge slab for Gears’ comfort, recharging on the floor on top of a thermal tarp and making no comment about how his upgraded back protested. The first morning after the incident, he had gone to the worksite and lied until Sir Hightop believed him, saying that NET needed Gears to be monitored at home because of certain fluctuations in his health and that Gears had put him in charge of the worksite until he had recovered his natural state…whatever his natural state was.

Hightop had agreed to that and Brawn had started his new job as stand-in manager, making sure the resistant mechs knew without a doubt that his rules were to be followed to the letter. He wasn’t too surprised to find many slackers among the crew and he spent his time snapping them straight like taut antennae.

Brawn taking charge had given Huffer the excuse to work before sunrise, rush through all of his work and then return home in the afternoon to tend to their charge. He cleaned and bandaged Gears’ beaten hands each orn and after some reluctant conference had hooked one of his energon lines to Gears’ as an IV of sorts since he wasn’t alert to drink it willingly.

The quality energon which Gears had insisted they keep was being used to stave off ill effects of giving blood, though Brawn could admit that he was growing increasingly worried for his One. The first time he’d given energon, Brawn had come home to find him recharging against the wall, the line stretched between their elbows like it was nothing but a cord for a plug-in machine.

It was so wrongly ordinary that he had almost considered banning it, but it was what kept their friend alive and that was what mattered. He somehow had a feeling Huffer would stop on his own timetable, when _he_ knew he couldn’t give anymore.

Needless to say, Brawn wasn’t sure _any_ of them could endure this long-term.

They maintained the schedule again this time, returning to find Gears much the same. Brawn was probably imagining that he had shifted slightly, but that didn’t matter. He looked Huffer up and down as the other mech ran a hand down his face and then twisted off the plating of his forearm, unfurling the line.

“Be careful,” Brawn pleaded out of impulse.

“You’ve said that every night, Brawn,” Huffer chided without any real tone to his voice. “You can _watch_ the energon run if you feel that strongly about it.”

“Well, I think I will,” Brawn accepted the challenge, throwing himself down on his thermal tarp and folding his arms imperiously. Huffer shrugged indulgently and connected with a deep sigh.

“What could’ve brought this on?” he asked after a minute or two, glancing in concern at Gears and then back at Brawn. “I mean…why was he out there? What was he like when you found him?”

Brawn swallowed hard, shaking his helm slightly. “I don’t know how, but I think he just snapped. I would too. He was _crying_ , Huffer. Crying, screaming…and he said—”

“He talked to you?”

“Just for a klik, just two words.” Brawn vented deeply, staring at his hands instead of the expectant other mech. He could sense that Huffer’s gaze wasn’t going to leave him until he had quoted these words, so he gave in. “He said ‘Everything hurts’.” When he looked up, he saw Huffer had barely reacted to that, other than a slight scrunch of the optics. They could both understand Gears’ sentiment; they had _lived_ that and to hear it summed up in two words was worth some contemplation, not conversation.

Late that night, after they finished the last of the CROSS dish for dinner, Brawn finally managed to pull Huffer away from the prone form of the third mech before he could reconnect. “I have energon I can give too and it’s time I did,” he stated firmly, making sure Huffer’s legs continued to support him as he pulled him upright.

“No, no,” Huffer whined as Brawn directed him to his recharge slab, which he hadn’t used for its intended purpose since Gears had arrived. “You have to work tomorrow, Brawn—”

“And so do you! You’ve been doing both, so I should be too. Remember how I said I’d make a stand you can’t? You can’t keep doing this. You need rest just as much as he does, little One.”

“Don’t call me that,” Huffer muttered just before he wound down into recharge. Brawn sank down against the far wall and looked between the two. Under any other circumstance, if he hadn’t been so concerned for them, he might have thought this scene felt right.

The next thing he knew, he came back online to the sharp hiss of the front door opening. Jerking upright, Brawn looked first to Huffer’s recharge slab and then to Gears’, finding the latter empty.

“Gears?!” he called in disbelief, thinking fast and waking his pace-mate to help him in the chase. Upon charging outside, they spotted the runaway sprinting down the street so quickly that he was almost a blur of blue and red.

“Gears!” Huffer shrieked at a cringe-worthy volume, bolting after him. Brawn naturally followed, veering down the familiar path that led to their worksite.

When they reached their destination, Huffer stopped up short, almost causing Brawn to run into him. The scene before them was…disturbing. To any other race of Cybertronian, this would have been shocking, yes, but to Culumexians, this was a horror.

Gears had begun that distressing scream again, tearing through whatever was in reach—tools of all ranges, whether they belonged to him or to his employees. He was a storm, laying waste to anything, everything.

It was when he finally set blazing optics on the building itself that Brawn knew action needed to be taken. To his disbelief, he had hardly tensed before Huffer was off like a cannon shot, flying at Gears and pinning him to the ground. Brawn rushed to assist as limbs tangled and Gears’ howl of rage became more disjointed, like he was struggling to continue. It likely had to do with the fact that Huffer had an arm around his throat.

“Don’t strangle him, Huffer! Just keep him still!” Brawn rebuked as he knelt, seizing Gears’ flailing arms and squeezing. To his relief and mild confusion, Gears stilled, letting him, recognition flaring in his EM field.

 _Oh_ …he’d just now recognized his touch as the one who had held him. Brawn pursed his lips, saying nothing, waiting for Gears to speak first.

“How—did I get here?” was the first question.

“A mech named Twincharge was given our address,” Brawn explained. “He said a NET femme was monitoring your house and, uh, picked us up on camera. She found our address through some kind of software and sent him to us so we could help you.”

Gears digested this information and relaxed just a fraction, allowing Brawn a nanoklik to realize again that this was a completely different mech. His face was only just now draining of rage into…shame. Gears tore his optics away from Brawn’s face to the wreckage, which he seemed to notice for the first time. “Oh…” he whispered, optics wide. “Oh, I…I built this for them! This place where they can hurt more…”

Brawn couldn’t let him stay in that place. “We’re taking you back to the house,” he said in a tone that meant no room for argument. “And you’re going to stay there until you recover, whatever that entails.”

“It’s okay, Gears, it’s fine. We’ve got you covered,” Huffer soothed as Gears tried to protest or apologize; neither of them knew which.

Gears didn’t recharge when they got back and waited out the night; he was too busy comfort-eating all the food Huffer could find for him. He seemed particularly fond of the Garbage O’s, so neither of the pace-mates told him how bad they were for systems. They didn’t know what strain his emotions could take, no matter how small. He seemed content to accept their food and board and stay coldly quiet, though occasionally if Brawn stirred in the late joors he resigned himself to hear stifled sobbing about creators. He could easily make the connection from there.

Another two nights later, they received a message which beckoned Gears to meet someone named Venture at the Topper, the same tavern he had taken them to not too long ago. It was after business joors and Brawn presently wasn’t too fond of leaving Gears alone _anywhere_ , so he and Huffer both went along.

It turned out, Gears explained flatly (but with colorful words), that Venture was the NET agent who had directed him to get the circuit card that would ‘balance him’.

The femme looked up as the three entered the building, with Gears at the front. Venture scrambled to her feet, trying to compose her concerned features, but she wasn’t quite managing it. Gears remained silent as she tentatively approached, a couple of sealed crates in her arms.

“Here are your belongings,” she offered quietly, to which he took the boxes and promptly shoved them at Huffer, who looked affronted for a nanoklik before accepting the load.

“Are you…is the circuit card working?” Venture probed.

“Do I look like I’m smiling?” Gears demanded in a near-hiss, earning a flinch. His face was shadowed, not just by the lack of lighting, as he redirected her attention. “You never answered me, so I’ll ask a bit less nicely. What are the Dark Houses? What’s in them?”

Venture contracted her vents and held them for a few kliks before answering quickly. “They hold those who have lost too much of their minds to move from the corners. Some of them hold the dead.”

Brawn had a feeling they were missing something, but Gears seemed satisfied, nodding curtly and thanking her for giving him that. Venture nodded dutifully and it was oddly bittersweet for Brawn as an onlooker that she was _relieved_ he was treating her brusquely.

Once they got back to their home and Huffer had set Gears’ boxes in the corner, Brawn faltered. Gears’ belongings in here with theirs. That…changed things.

“Gears, we need to talk,” he announced without warning, earning a puzzled, slightly sullen stare which made him falter further. “You…you’ve been the only friend we’ve had, the only real one. You’ve taken care of us, accepted us when no one else would.”

“Get to the point please,” Gears pleaded softly, the indecency of his words inconsequential when compared to the weariness with which he said them.

Brawn glanced at Huffer, the question he was about to ask clear in his face. Huffer stared back in blatant disbelief before glancing at the two small boxes which had no home. Brawn could see him processing all the things that could go wrong before shuttering his optics and inclining his helm in just a fraction of a nod.

So conferred, Brawn straightened, authority strengthening his words as he continued, “I’ve recently been making up the spare room. I was going to surprise Huffer with it, but so far we haven’t at all minded sharing a room. It helps us actually, but someone who needs a bit of time, who needs a place of their own, could have it.” It should’ve been obvious what Brawn was implying, but Gears still said nothing, so Brawn threw up his hands and came closer. “Would you like to become part of our pace?”

“Your…your **sequein**?” Gears gasped, backing up a few steps. “You…would accept me?”

“You’ve done a lot for us, Gears, and it’s about time we took care of _you_ ,” Huffer piped up gently. “You have a place here. If you want, you can have a _pace_ here too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Primus, I can't believe how fast this has gone by...
> 
> Sequien: the second Mini to be invited into the pace


	19. Epilogue

Five diuns passed without Gears’ verbal acknowledgement of the question, but by the time he did give it, it wasn’t needed. He had been accepted ever since that night, treated with just as much respect as Huffer and Brawn treated each other.

They accepted that he was a hypochondriac. They accepted that he refused to continue work with them until they moved on to a different project. They accepted that he would rather spend his time poring over the data pads his late carrier had tried to send him. Often they returned to see him in tears and Brawn would let Huffer take over—not to fix things, but because he recognized the instances where he wouldn’t be of use.

He was the presence who brought Gears up each morning, making sure he didn’t sink too far into his grief. Brawn made sure Gears _never_ tried to remove his circuit card in the rage and sorrow and he took more than a few punches willingly. He also subdued him when it was necessary. There were several ups and downs, such as Gears’ first laugh, which made Huffer cry and Brawn fall silent. There were nightmares that plagued all three, but after several fights they accepted comfort.

The pace-leader and his One watched Gears accept them in turn. He began to treasure his creators’ letters instead of tormenting himself with them and he began to make adjustments to the ‘spare room’ that wasn’t a spare anymore. He came back to the job, requesting he be held in a smaller role, as a mech who controlled materials rather than overseeing the entire site. Hightop was gracious and made it so. Gears accepted the confusion of his previous employees, who were taken aback by the change in him, and then he took Brawn and Huffer aside.

“I’ll be your **sequein** ,” he swore, “and do you know why?” At their knowing smiles, he declared, “Because I’m…I’m happy.”

He said it with fierce optics and a frown on his face and it was the first time all three of them fully believed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End.
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed "Joy in All Circumstances" as much as I have loved writing it. Thank you to all of my FANTASTIC readers, especially the ones who commented faithfully. Your presence always brightens my day! :)
> 
> Next stop, Windcharger! And he's got some adjusting to do...


End file.
